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L161— O-1096 

Croxlep  f^bition 

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Volumes  VII-VIII 


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MttP  of  (finglisff)  anb  Jf  rtnct)  literature 


Craxlep  Cbition 


Wt^t  Morfeg  of 

Jlonore  be  pal^ac 

Volumes  VII-VIII 


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^  JBaci)elot'£;  Csitabltsitment 
5|onorme 


S>ociEtp  of  Cnglis^l)  anb  Jf  rencl)  literature 


CONTENTS 


PART  I 


ix^TRODUCTION  - 

AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  CAT  AND 
RACKET-  .         -         -  - 

(La  Maiscn  du  Chat-qui-Pelote) 

THE  BALL  AT  SCEAUX 

{Le  Bal  de  Sgeaux) 

THE  PURSE  .... 

(Z«  Bourse) 

MADAME  FIRMIANI 

{Mme.  Ftrmiant) 

THE  CELIBATES— I 
PIERRETTE  .         .         ,  - 

{Pierrette) 

THE  CELIBATES— II 

THE   VICAR  OF  TOURS 

{Le  Cure  de  Tours) 

VOL.  4—1 


iv 


CONTENTS 
PART  II 


PAGE 

INTRODUCTION  ix 

THE  CELIBATES— III 

A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT  -         -         -  I 
(  Un  Menage  de  garden) 

HONORINE  299 

{Honorine) 
(Translator,  Clara  Bbll  ) 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  CAT  AND  RACKET 
THE  CELIBATES,  AND  OTHER  STORIES 


INTRODUCTION 


{n  the  very  interesting  prefatse,  dated  July  1842,  which  Bal- 
zac prefixed  to  the  first  collection  of  the  Comedie  Humaine, 
he  endeavors,  naturally  enough,  to  represent  the  division  into 
Scenes  de  la  Vie  Parisienne,  etc.,  as  a  rational  and  reasoned 
one.  Although  not  quite  arbitrary,  it  was  of  course  to  a 
great  extent  determined  by  considerations  which  were  not 
those  of  design;  and  we  did  not  require  the  positive  testi- 
mony which  we  find  in  the  Letters  to  tell  us  that  in  the 
author's  view,  as  well  as  in  our  own,  not  a  few  of  the  stories 
might  have  been  shifted  over  from  one  division  to  another, 
and  have  filled  their  place  just  as  well  in  the  other  as  in  the 
one. 

La  Maison  du  Chat-qui-Pelote,  however,  which  originally 
bore  the  much  less  happy  title  of  "Gloire  et  Malheur,"  was 
a  Scene  de  la  Vie  Privee  from  the  first,  and  it  bears  out  better 
than  some  of  its  companions  its  author's  expressed  intention 
of  making  these  "scenes"  represent  youth,  whether  Parisian 
or  Provincial.  Few  of  Balzac's  stories  have  united  the  gen- 
eral suffrage  for  touching  grace  more  than  this;  and  there 
are  few  better  examples  of  his  minute  Dutch-painting  than 
the  opening  passages,  or  of  his  unconquerable  delight  in  the 
details  of  business  than  his  sketch  of  Monsieur  Guillaume's^ 
establishment  and  its  ways.  The  French  equivalent  of  the 
Complete  Tradesman"  of  Defoe  lasted  much  longer  than  his 
English  counterpart;  but,  except  in  the  smaller  provincial 
towns,  he  is  said  to  be  uncommon  now.    As  for  the  plot,  it 


X 


INTRODUCTION 


such  a  stately  name  can  be  given  to  so  delicate  a  sketch,  it  is 
of  course  open  to  downright  British  judgment  to  pronounce 
the  self-sacrifice  of  Lebas  more  ignoble  than  touching,  the 
conduct  of  Theodore  too  childish  to  deserve  the  excuses  some- 
times possible  for  passionate  inconstancy,  and  the  character 
of  Augustine  angelically  idiotic.  This  last  outrage,  if  it  were 
committed,  would  indeed  only  be  an  instance  of  the  irrecon- 
cilable difference  which  almost  to  the  present  day  divides 
English  and  French  ideas  of  ideally  perfect  girlhood,  and  of 
that  state  of  womanhood  which  corresponds  thereto.  The 
candeur  adorable  which  the  Frenchman  adores  and  exhibits 
in  the  girl;  the  uncompromising,  though  mortal,  passion  of 
the  woman ;  are  too  different  from  any  ideal  that  we  have  en- 
tertained, except  for  a  very  short  period  in  the  eighteenth 
"century.  But  there  are  few  more  pathetic  and  charming  im- 
personations of  this  other  ideal  than  Augustine  de  Sommer- 
vieux. 

All  the  stories  associated  with  La  Maison  du  Chat-qui- 
Pelote,  according  to  French  standards — all,  perhaps,  accord- 
ing to  all  but  the  very  strictest  and  oldest-fashioned  of  Eng- 
lish— are  perfectly  free  from  the  slightest  objection  on  the 
score  of  that  propriety  against  which  Balzac  has  an  amusing: 
if  not  quite  exact  tirade  in  one  of  his  books.  And  this  is 
evidently  not  accidental,  for  the  preface  above  referred  to 
is  an  elaborate  attempt  to  rebut  the  charge  of  impropriety, 
and  to  show  that  the  author  could  draw  virtuous  as  well  as 
unvirtuous  characters.  But  they  are  not,  taking  them  as  a 
whole,  and  omitting  the  "Cat  and  Racket"  itself,  quite  ex- 
amples of  putting  the  best  foot  foremost.  Le  Bal  de  Sceaux, 
with  its  satire  on  contempt  for  trade,  is  in  some  ways  more 
like  Balzac's  young  friend  and  pupil  Charles  de  Bernard 
than  \ike  himself;  and  I  believe  it  attracted  English  notice 


INTRODTjCTION 


xi 


pretty  early.  At  least  I  seem,  when  quite  a  boy,  and  long 
before  I  read  the  Comedie  Ilumaine,  to  have  seen  an  English 
version  or  paraphrase  of  it.  La  Bourse,  though  agreeable,  is 
a  little  slight.  I  should  rank  Madame  Firmiani  a  good  deal 
higher  than  these  two,  though  it  also  is  a  little  slight,  and 
though  it  is  not  in  Balzac's  most  characteristic  or  important 
manner.  Eather,  perhaps,  does  it  remind  us  of  the  "Physiolo- 
gies" and  the  other  social  "skits'^  and  sketches  which  he  was 
writing  for  the  Caricature  and  other  papers  at  the  time.  Still, 
the  various  descriptions  of  the  heroine  have  a  point  and 
sparkle  which  are  almost  peculiar  to  the  not  quite  mature 
work  of  men  of  genius;  and  the  actual  story  has  a  lightness 
which,  perhaps,  would  have  disappeared  if  Balzac  had 
handled  it  at  greater  length. 

As  for  bibliography.  La  Maison  du  Chat-qui-Pelote,  under 
the  title  above  referred  to,  saw  the  light  first  with  other 
Scenes  de  la  Vie  Privee  in  1830.  But  it  was  not  dated  as  of 
the  previous  year  till  five  years  later,  in  its  third  edition; 
while  the  title  was  not  changed  till  the  great  collection  itself. 
Of  its  companions,  Le  Bal  de  Sceaux  was  an  original  one, 
iind  seems  to  have  been  written  as  well  as  published  more 
or  less  at  the  same  time.  It  at  first  had  an  alternative  title, 
Ou  le  Pair  de  France,  which  was  afterwards  dropped. 

La  Bourse  was  early,  but  not  quite  so  early  as  these.  It 
appeared  in,  and  was  apparently  written  for,  the  second  edi- 
tion of  the  Scenes  de  la  Vie  Privee,  published  in  May  1832. 
In  1835  it  was  moved  over  to  the  Scenes  de  la  Vie  Parisienne, 
between  which  and  the  Vie  Privee  there  is  in  fact  a  good  deal 
of  cross  and  arbitrary  division.  But  when  the  full  Comedie 
took  shape  it  moved  back  again.  La  Vendetta,  which  be- 
longs with  this  group  of  stories,  has  been  reserved  for  a  later 
volume. 


xii  INTRODUCTION 

Madame  Firmiani  was  first  published  in  the  Revue  de 
Paris  for  February  1832 ;  then  became  a  Conte  Philosophique, 
and  still  in  the  same  year  a  Scene  de  la  Vie  Parisienne.  It 
was  in  the  1842  collection  that  it  took  up  its  abode  in  the 
Scenes  de  la  Vie  Privee, 


Les  Celilataires,  the  longest  number  of  the  original  Comedie 
under  a  single  title,  next  to  Illusions  per  dues,  is  not,  like  that 
book,  connected  by  any  unity  of  story.  Indeed,  the  general 
bond  of  union  is  pretty  weak ;  and  though  it  is  quite  true  that 
bachelors  and  old  maids  are  the  heroes  and  heroines  ofiall 
three,  it  would  be  rather  hard  to  establish  any  other  bond  of 
connection,  and  it  is  rather  unlikely  that  any  one  unprompted 
would  fix  on  this  as  a  sufficient  ground  of  partnership. 

Two  at  least  of  the  component  parts,  however,  are  of  very 
high  excellence.  I  do  not  myself  think  that  Pierrette,  which 
opens  the  series,  is  quite  the  equal  of  its  companions. 
Written,  as  it  was,  for  Countess  Anna  de  Hanska,  Balzac's 
step-daughter  of  the  future,  while  she  was  still  very  young,  it 
partakes  necessarily  of  the  rather  elaborate  artificiality  of  all 
attempts  to  suit  the  young  person,  of  French  attempts  in  par- 
ticular, and  it  may  perhaps  be  said  of  Balzac's  attempts  most 
of  all.  It  belongs,  in  a  way,  to  the  Arcis  series — the  series 
which  also  includes  the  fine  Tenebreuse  Affaire  and  the  un- 
finished Depute  d' Arcis — but  is  not  very  closely  connected 
therewith.  The  picture  of  the  actual  Celihataires,  the  brother 
and  sister  Eogron,  with  which  it  opens,  is  in  one  of  Balzac's 
best-known  styles,  and  is  executed  with  all  his  usual  mastery 
both  of  the  minute  and  of  the  at  least  partially  repulsive,  show- 
ing also  that  strange  knowledge  of  the  bourgeois  de  Paris 
which,  somehow  or  other,  he  seems  to  have  attained  by  dint  of 


rNTI«]rDUCTIX3N 


xill 


unknown  foregatherings  in  his  ten  years  of  apprenticeship. 
But  when  we  come  to  Pierrette  herself,  the  story  is,  I  think^ 
rather  less  satisfying.  Her  persecutions  and  her  end,  and  the 
devotion  of  the  faithful  Brigaut  and  the  rest,  are  pathetic  no 
doubt,  but  tend  (I  hope  it  is  not  heartless  to  say  it)  Just  a 
very  little  towards  sensihlerie.  The  fact  is  that  the  thing  is 
not  quite  in  Balzac's  line. 

The  other  and  shorter  constituent  of  the  book,  Le  Cure  de 
Tours,  is  certainly  on  a  higher  level,  and  has  attracted  the 
most  magnificent  eulogies  from  some  of  the  novelist's  ad- 
mirers. I  think  both  Mr.  Henry  James  and  Mr.  Wedmore 
have  singled  out  this  little  piece  for  detailed  and  elaborate 
praise,  and  there  is  no  doubt  that  it  is  a  happy  example  of  a 
kind  in  which  the  author  excelled.  The  opening,  with  its  evi- 
dent but  not  obtruded  remembrance  of  the  old  and  well- 
founded  superstition — derived  from  the  universal  belief  in 
some  form  of  Nemesis — that  an  extraordinary  sense  of  happi- 
ness, good  luck,  or  anything  of  the  kind,  is  a  precursor  of  mis- 
fortune, and  calls  for  some  instant  act  of  sacrifice  or  humilia- 
tion, is  very  striking;  and  the  working  out  of  the  vengeance 
of  the  goddess  by  the  very  ungoddess-like  though  feminine 
hand  of  Mademoiselle  Gamard  has  much  that  is  commend- 
able. Nothing  in  its  well  exampled  kind  is  better  touched 
off  than  the  Listomere  coterie,  from  the  shrewdness  of  Mon- 
sieur de  Bourbonne  to  the  selfishness  of  Madame  de  Listo- 
mere. 1  do  not  know  that  the  old  maid  herself — cat,  and  far 
worse  than  cat  as  she  is — is  at  all  exaggerated,  and  the  sketch 
of  the  coveted  appartement  and  its  ill-fated  mohilier  is  about 
as  good  as  it  can  be.  And  the  battle  between  Madame  de 
Listomere  and  the  Abbe  Troubert,  which  has  served  as  a 
model  for  many  similar  things,  has,  if  it  has  often  been 
equaled,  not  often  been  surpassed. 


xiv 


INTRODUCTION 


I  cannot,  however,  help  thinking  that  there  is  more  than 
a  little  exaggeration  in  more  than  one  point  of  the  story.  The 
Abbe  Birotteau  is  surely  a  little  too  much  of  a  fool;  the 
Abbe  Troubert  an  lago  a  little  too  much  wanting  in  verisi- 
militude; and  the  central  incident  of  the  clause  about  the 
furniture  too  manifestly  improbable.  Taking  the  first  and 
the  last  points  together,  is  it  likely  that  any  one  not  quite  an 
idiot  should,  in  the  first  place,  remain  so  entirely  ignorant 
of  the  value  of  his  property;  should,  in  the  second,  though, 
ignorant  or  not,  he  attached  the  greatest  possible  pretium 
affectionis  to  it,  contract  to  resign  it  for  such  a  ridiculous  con- 
sideration; and  should,  in  the  third,  take  the  fatal  step  with- 
out so  much  as  remembering  the  condition  attached  thereto? 
If  it  be  answered  that  Birotteau  was  idiot  enough  to  do  such 
a  thing,  then  it  must  be  observed  further  that  one's  sympath}' 
is  frozen  by  the  fact.  Such  a  man  deserved  such  treatment. 
And,  again,  even  if  French  justice  was,  and  perhaps  is,  as 
much  influenced  by  secret  considerations  as  Balzac  loves  to 
represent  it,  we  must  agree  with  that  member  of  the  Listo- 
mere  society  who  pointed  out  that  no  tribunal  could  possibly 
uphold  such  an  obviously  iniquitous  bargain.  As  for  Trou- 
bert, the  idea  of  the  Jesuitical  ecclesiastic  (though  Balzac 
was  not  personally  hostile  to  the  Jesuits)  was  a  common  one 
at  the  time,  and  no  doubt  popular,  but  the  actual  personage 
seems  to  me  nearer  to  Eugene  Sue's  Eodin  in  some  ways  than 
I  could  have  desired. 

These  things,  however,  are  very  much  a  case  of  "As  You 
Like  It"  or  "As  It  Strikes  You,"  and  I  have  said  that  Le  Cure 
de  Tours  strikes  some  good  judges  as  of  exceptional  merit, 
while  no  one  can  refuse  it  merit  in  a  high  degree.  I  should 
not,  except  for  the  opening,  place  it  in  the  very  highest  class 
of  the  Comedie,  but  it  is  high  beyond  all  doubt  in  the  second. 


INTRODUCTION 


XV 


Pierrette,  which  was  earlier  called  Pierrette  Lorrain,  was 
issued  in  1840,  first  in  the  Siecle,  and  then  in  volume  form, 
published  by  Souverain.  In  both  issues  it  had  nine  chapter 
or  book  divisions  with  headings.  With  the  other  Celihataires 
it  entered  the  Comedie  as  a  Scene  de  la  Vie  de  Province  in 
1843. 

Le  Cure  de  Tours  (which  Balzac  had  at  one  time  intended 
to  call  by  the  name  of  the  Cure's  enemy,  and  which  at  first 
was  simply  called  by  the  general  title  Les  Celihataires)  is 
much  older  than  its  companions,  and  appeared  in  1832  in  the 
Scenes  de  la  Vie  Privee.  It  was  soon  properly  shifted  to  the 
Vie  de  Province,  and  as  such  in  due  time  joined  the  Comedie 
bearing  its  present  title.  G-.  S. 

[The  third  part  of  Les  Celihataires,  not  being  connected 
with  the  others,  is  included  in  a  separate  volume^  under  its 
own  title  of  Un  Menage  de  gargon.] 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  CAT  AND  RACKET 


Dedicated  to  Mademoiselle  Marie  de  Montheau  ' 

Half-way  down  the  Kue  Saint-Denis,  almost  at  the  corned 
of  the  Eue  du  Petit-Lion,  there  stood  formerly  one  of  those 
delightful  houses  which  enable  historians  to  reconstruct  old 
Paris  by  analogy.  The  threatening  walls  of  this  tumbledown 
abode  seemed  to  have  been  decorated  with  hieroglyphics.  For 
what  other  name  could  the  passer-by  give  to  the  Xs  and  Vs 
which  the  horizontal  or  diagonal  timbers  traced  on  the  front, 
outlined  by  little  parallel  cracks  in  the  plaster?  It  w^as  evi- 
dent that  every  beam  quivered  in  its  mortices  at  the  passing 
of  the  lightest  vehicle.  This  venerable  structure  was 
\?rowned  by  a  triangular  roof  of  which  no  example  will,  ere 
if.ong,  be  seen  in  Paris.  This  covering,  warped  by  the  ex- 
tremes of  the  Paris  climate,  projected  three  feet  over  the 
j'oadway,  as  much  to  protect  the  threshold  from  the  rainfall 
as  to  shelter  the  wall  of  a  loft  and  its  sill-less  dormer-window. 
This  upper  story  was  built  of  planks,  overlapping  each  other 
like  slates,  in  order,  no  doubt,  not  to  overweight  the  frail 
house. 

One  rainy  morning  in  the  month  of  March,  a  young  man, 
carefully  wrapped  in  his  cloak,  stood  under  the  awning  of  a 
shop  opposite  this  old  house,  which  he  was  studying  with  the 
enthusiasm  of  an  antiquary.  In  point  of  fact,  this  relic  of 
the  civic  life  of  the  sixteenth  century  offered  more  than  one 
problem  to  the  consideration  of  an  observer.  Each  story 
presented  some  singularity;  on  the  first  floor  four  tall, 
narrow  windows,  close  together,  were  filled  as  to  the  lower 
panes  with  boards,  so  as  to  produce  the  doubtful  light  by 
which  a  clever  salesman  can  ascribe  to  his  goods  the  color 


2 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  CAT  AND  RACKET 


his  customers  inquire  for.  The  young  man  seemed  very 
scornful  of  this  part  of  the  house;  his  eyes  had  not  yet 
rested  on  it.  The  windows  of  the  second  floor,  where  the 
Venetian  blinds  were  drawn  up,  revealing  little  dingy  muslin 
curtains  behind  the  large  Bohemian  glass  panes,  did  not  in- 
terest him  either.  His  attention  was  attracted  to  the  third 
floor,  to  the  modest  sash-frames  of  wood,  so  clumsily  wrought 
that  they  might  have  found  a  place  in  the  Museum  of  Arts 
and  Crafts  to  illustrate  the  early  efforts  of  French  carpentry. 
These  windows  were  glazed  with  small  squares  of  glass  so 
green  that,  but  for  his  good  eyes,  the  young  man  could  not 
have  seen  the  blue-checked  cotton  curtains  which  screened 
the  mysteries  of  the  room  from  profane  eyes.  Now  and  then 
the  watcher,  weary  of  his  fruitless  contemplation,  or  of  the 
silence  in  which  the  house  was  buried,  like  the  whole  neigh- 
borhood, dropped  his  eyes  towards  the  lower  regions.  An  in- 
voluntary smile  parted  his  lips  each  time  he  looked  at  the 
shop,  where,  in  fact,  there  were  some  laughable  details. 

A  formidable  wooden  beam,  resting  on  four  pillars,  which 
appeared  to  have  bent  under  the  weight  of  the  decrepit  house, 
had  been  encrusted  with  as  many  coats  of  different  paint  ay 
there  are  of  rouge  on  an  old  duchess'  cheek.  In  the  middle 
of  this  broad  and  fantastically  carved  joist  there  was  an  old 
painting  representing  a  cat  playing  rackets.  This  picture 
was  what  moved  the  young  man  to  mirth.  But  it  must  be 
said  that  the  wittiest  of  modern  painters  could  not  invent 
so  comical  a  caricature.  The  animal  held  in  one  of  its  fore- 
paws  a  racket  as  big  as  itself,  and  stood  on  its  hind  legs  to 
aim  at  hitting  an  enormous  ball,  returned  by  a  man  in  a  fine 
embroidered  coat.  Drawing,  color,  and  accessories,  all  were 
treated  in  such  a  way  as  to  suggest  that  the  artist  had  meant 
to  make  game  of  the  shop-owner  and  of  the  passing  observer. 
Time,  while  impairing  this  artless  painting,  had  made  it  yet 
more  grotesque  by  introducing  some  uncertain  features  which 
must  have  puzzled  the  conscientious  idler.  For  instance,  the 
cat's  tail  had  been  eaten  into  in  such  a  way  that  it  might 
now  have  been  taken  for  the  figure  of  a  spectator — so  long. 


AT  THE  SIGN  OP  THE  CAT  AND  RACKET 


3 


and  thick,  and  furry  were  the  tails  of  our  forefathers'  cats. 
To  the  right  of  the  picture,  on  an  azure  field  which  ill-dis- 
guised the  decay  of  the  wood,  might  be  read  the  name 
"Guillaume,"  and  to  the  left,  "Successor  to  Master  Chevrel." 
Sun  and  rain  had  worn  away  most  of  the  gilding  parsi- 
moniously applied  to  the  letters  of  this  superscription,  in 
which  the  Us  and  Vs  had  changed  places  in  obedience  to  the 
laws  of  old-world  orthography. 

To  quench  the  pride  of  those  who  believe  that  the  world 
is  growing  cleverer  day  by  day,  and  that  modern  humbug 
surpasses  everything,  it  may  be  observed  that  these  signs,  of 
which  the  origin  seems  so  whimsical  to  many  Paris  merchants, 
are  the  dead  pictures  of  once  living  pictures  by  which  our 
roguish  ancestors  contrived  to  tempt  customers  into  their 
houses.  Thus  the  Spinning  Sow,  the  Green  Monkey,  and 
others,  were  animals  in  cages  whose  skill  astonished  the 
passer-by,  and  whose  accomplishments  prove  the  patience  oi* 
the  fifteenth-century  artisan.  Such  curiosities  did  more  to 
enrich  their  fortunate  owners  than  the  signs  of  "Providence," 
"Good-faith,"  "Grace  of  God,"  and  "Decapitation  of  John  the 
Baptist,"  which  may  still  be  seen  in  the  Eue  Saint-Denis. 

However,  our  stranger  was  certainly  not  standing  there  to 
admire  the  cat,  which  a  minute's  attention  sufficed  to  stamp 
on  his  memory.  The  young  man  himself  had  his  peculiarities. 
His  cloak,  folded  after  the  manner  of  an  antique  drapery, 
showed  a  smart  pair  of  shoes,  all  the  more  remarkable  in  the 
midst  of  the  Paris  mud,  because  he  wore  white  silk  stockings, 
on  which  the  splashes  betrayed  his  impatience.  He  had  just 
come,  no  doubt,  from  a  wedding  or  a  ball;  for  at  this  early 
hour  he  had  in  his  hand  a  pair  of  white  gloves,  and  his 
black  hair,  now  out  of  curl,  and  flowing  over  his  shoulders, 
showed  that  it  had  been  dressed  d  la  Caracalla,  a  fashion  in- 
troduced as  much  by  David's  school  of  painting  as  by  the 
mania  for  Greek  and  Eoman  styles  which  characterized  the 
early  years  of  this  century. 

In  spite  of  the  noise  made  by  a  few  market  gardeners,  who, 
being  late,  rattled  past  towards  the  great  market-place  at  a 


4 


AT  THE  SIGN  OP  THE  CAT  AND  RACKET 


gallop,  the  busy  street  lay  in  a  stillness  of  which  the  magic 
charm  is  known  only  to  those  who  have  wandered  through 
deserted  Paris  at  the  hours  when  its  roar,  hushed  for  a  mo- 
ment,  rises  and  spreads  in  the  distance  like  the  great  voicd 
of  the  sea.  This  strange  young  man  must  have  seemed  as 
curious  to  the  shopkeeping  folk  of  the  "Cat  and  Eacket"  a? 
the  "Cat  and  Racket"  was  to  him.  A  dazzlingly  white  cravat 
made  his  anxious  face  look  even  paler  than  it  really  was.  The 
fire  that  flashed  in  his  black  eyes,  gloomy  and  sparkling  by 
turns,  was  in  harmony  with  the  singular  outline  of  his 
features,  with  his  wide,  flexible  mouth,  hardened  into  a  smile. 
His  forehead,  knit  with  violent  annoyance,  had  a  stamp  of 
doom.  Is  not  the  forehead  the  most  prophetic  feature  of  a 
man?  When  the  stranger's  brow  expressed  passion  the  fur- 
rows formed  in  it  were  terrible  in  their  strength  and  energy; 
but  when  he  recovered  his  calmness,  so  easily  upset,  it  beamed 
with  a  luminous  grace  which  gave  great  attractiveness  to  a 
countenance  in  which  joy,  grief,  love,  anger,  or  scorn  blazed 
out  so  contagiously  that  the  coldest  man  could  not  fail  to  be 
impressed. 

He  was  so  thoroughly  vexed  by  the  time  when  the  dormer- 
window  of  the  loft  was  suddenly  flung  open,  that  he  did  not 
observe  the  apparition  of  three  laughing  faces,  pink  and  v/hite 
and  chubby,  but  as  vulgar  as  the  face  of  Commerce  as  it 
is  seen  in  sculpture  on  certain  monuments.  These  three 
faces,  framed  by  the  window,  recalled  the  puffy  cherubs 
floating  among  the  clouds  that  surround  God  the  Father. 
The  apprentices  snuffed  up  the  exhalations  of  the  street  with 
an  eagerness  that  showed  how  hot  and  poisonous  the  atmos- 
phere of  their  garret  must  be.  After  pointing  to  the  singular 
sentinel,  the  most  jovial,  as  he  seemed,  of  the  apprentices 
retired  and  came  back  holding  an  instrument  whose  hard 
metal  pipe  is  now  superseded  by  a  leather  tube;  and  they  all 
grinned  with  mischief  as  they  looked  down  on  the  loiterer, 
and  sprinkled  him  with  a  fine  white  shower  of  which  the 
scent  proved  that  three  chins  had  just  been  shaved.  Stand- 
ing on  tiptoe,  in  the  farthest  corner  of  their  loft,  to  enjoy 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  CAT  AND  RACKET 


5 


their  victim's  rage,  the  lads  ceased  laughing  on  seeing  the 
haughty  indifference  with  which  the  young  man  shook  his 
cloak,  and  the  intense  contempt  expressed  by  his  face  as  he 
glanced  up  at  the  empty  window-frame. 

At  this  moment  a  slender  white  hand  threw  up  the  lower 
half  of  one  of  the  clumsy  windows  on  the  third  floor  by  the 
aid  of  the  sash  runners,  of  which  the  pulley  so  often  suddenly 
gives  way  and  releases  the  heavy  panes  it  ought  to  hold  up. 
The  watcher  was  then  rewarded  for  his  long  waiting.  The 
face  of  a  young  girl  appeared,  as  fresh  as  one  of  the  white 
cups  that  bloom  on  the  bosom  of  the  waters,  crowned  by  a 
frill  of  tumbled  muslin,  which  gave  her  head  a  look  of  ex- 
quisite innocence.  Though  wrapped  in  brown  stuff,  her  neck 
and  shoulders  gleamed  here  and  there  through  little  open- 
ings left  by  her  movements  in  sleep.  No  expression  of  em- 
barrassment detracted  from  the  candor  of  her  face,  or  the 
calm  look  of  eyes  immortalized  long  since  in  the  sublimf? 
works  of  Raphael;  here  were  the  same  grace,  the  same  repos(? 
as  in  these  Virgins,  and  now  proverbial.  There  was  a  de  - 
lightful contrast  between  the  cheeks  of  that  face  on  which 
sleep  had,  as  it  were,  given  high  relief  to  a  superabundance 
of  life,  and  the  antiquity  of  the  heavy  window  with  its  clumsy 
shape  and  black  sill.  Like  those  day-blowing  flowers,  which 
in  the  early  morning  have  not  yet  unfurled  their  cups, 
twisted  by  the  chills  of  night,  the  girl,  as  yet  hardly  awake, 
let  her  blue  eyes  wander  beyond  the  neighboring  roofs  to  look 
at  the  sky;  then,  from  habit,  she  east  them  down  on  the 
gloomy  depths  of  the  street,  where  they  immediately  met  those 
of  her  adorer.  Vanity,  no  doubt,  distressed  her  at  being  seen  in 
undress ;  she  started  back,  the  worn  pulley  gave  way,  and  the 
sash  fell  with  the  rapid  run,  which  in  our  day  has  earned 
for  this  artless  invention  of  our  forefathers  an  odious  name.* 
The  vision  had  disappeared.  To  the  young  man  the  most 
radiant  star  of  morning  seemed  to  be  hidden  by  a  cloud. 

During  these  little  incidents  the  heavy  inside  shutters  that 
protected  the  slight  windows  of  the  shop  of  the  "Cat  and 

*  Fenfire  it  la  Qvillotine. 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  GAT  AND  RAGKET 

Racket"  had  been  removed  as  if  by  magic.  The  old  door 
with  its  knocker  was  opened  back  against  the  wall  of  the 
entry  by  a  man-servant,  apparently  coeval  with  the  sign,  who, 
with  a  shaking  hand,  hung  upon  it  a  square  of  cloth,  on  which 
were  embroidered  in  yellow  silk  the  words :  "Guillaume,  suc- 
cessor to  Chevrel."  Many  a  passer-by  would  have  found  it 
difficult  to  guess  the  class  of  trade  carried  on  by  Monsieur 
Guillaume.  Between  the  strong  iron  bars  which  protected 
■his  shop  windows  on  the  outside,  certain  packages,  wrapped 
in  brown  linen,  were  hardly  visible,  though  as  numerous  as 
herringsi  swimming  in  a  shoal.  Notwithstanding  the  primi- 
tive aspect  of  the  Gothic  front,  Monsieur  Guillaume,  of  all 
the  merchant  clothiers  in  Paris,  was  the  one  whose  stores 
were  always  the  best  provided,  whose  connections  were  the 
most  extensive,  and  whose  commercial  honesty  never  lay  under 
the  slightest  suspicion.  If  some  of  his  brethren  in  business 
made  a  contract  with  the  Government,  and  had  not  the  re- 
quired quantity  of  cloth,  he  was  always  ready  to  deliver  it, 
however  large  the  number  of  pieces  tendered  for.  The  wily 
dealer  knew  a  thousand  ways  of  extracting  the  largest  profits 
without  being  obliged,  like  them,  to  court  patrons,  cringiag 
to  them,  or  making  them  costly  presents.  When  his  fellow- 
tradesmen  could  only  pay  in  good  bills  of  long  date,  he  would 
mention  his  notary  as  an  accommodating  man,  and  managed 
to  get  a  second  profit  out  of  the  bargain,  thanks  to  this  ar- 
rangement, which  had  made  it  a  proverb  among  the  traders 
of  the  Rue  Saint-Denis:  "Heaven  preserve  you  from  Mon- 
sieur Guillaume's  notary !"  to  signify  a  heavy  discount. 

The  old  merchant  was  to  be  seen  standing  on  the  threshold 
of  his  shop,  as  if  by  a  miracle,  the  instant  the  servant  with- 
drew. Monsieur  Guillaume  looked  at  the  Rue  Saint-Denis,' 
at  the  neighboring  shops,  and  at  the  weather,  like  a  man 
disembarking  at  Havre,  and  seeing  France  once  more  after 
a  long  voyage.  Having  convinced  himself  that  nothing  had 
changed  while  he  was  asleep,  he  presently  perceived  the 
stranger  on  guard,  and  he,  on  his  part,  gazed  at  the  pa- 
triarchal draper  as  Humboldt  may  have  scrutinized  tLe 


At  the  sign  of  the  Cat  and  Racket 


I 


AT  THE  SIGN  01'  THE  CAT  AND  RACKET 


7 


first  electric  eel  he  saw  in  America.  Monsieur  Guillaume 
wore  loose  black  velvet  breeches,  pepper-and-salt  stockings, 
and  square-toed  shoes  with  silver  buckles.  His  coat,  with 
square-cut  fronts,  square-cut  tails,  and  square-cut  collar, 
clothed  his  slightly  bent  figure  in  greenish  cloth,  finished  with 
white  metal  buttons,  tawny  from  wear.  His  gray  hair  was 
so  accurately  combed  and  flattened  over  his  yellow  pate  that 
it  made  it  look  like  a  furrowed  field.  His  little  green  eyes, 
that  might  have  been  pierced  with  a  gimlet,  flashed  beneath 
arches  faintly  tinged  with  red  in  the  place  of  eyebrows. 
Anxieties  had  wrinkled  his  forehead  with  as  many  horizontal 
lines  as  there  were  creases  in  his  coat.  This  colorless  face 
expressed  patience,  commercial  shrewdness,  and  the  sort  of 
wily  cupidity  which  is  needful  in  business.  At  that  time 
these  old  families  were  less  rare  than  they  are  now,  in  which 
the  characteristic  habits  and  costume  of  their  calling,  sur- 
viving in  the  midst  of  more  recent  civilization,  were  preserved 
as  cherished  traditions,  like  the  antediluvian  remains  found 
by  Cuvier  in  the  quarries. 

The  head  of  the  Guillaume  family  was  a  notable  upholder 
of  ancient  practices ;  he  might  be  heard  to  regret  the  Provost 
of  Merchants,  and  never  did  he  mention  a  decision  of  the 
Tribunal  of  Commerce  without  calling  it  the  Sentence  of  the 
Consuls.  Up  and  dressed  the  first  of  the  household,  in  obe- 
dience, no  doubt,  to  these  old  customs,  he  stood  sternly  await- 
ing the  appearance  of  his  three  assistants,  ready  to  scold  them 
in  case  they  were  late.  These  young  disciples  of  Mercury 
knew  nothing  more  terrible  than  the  wordless  assiduity  with 
which  the  master  scrutinized  their  faces  and  their  movements 
on  Monday  in  search  of  evidence  or  traces  of  their  pranks. 
But  at  this  moment  the  old  clothier  paid  no  heed  to  his  ap- 
prentices; he  was  absorbed  in  trying  to  divine  the  motive 
of  the  anxious  looks  which  the  young  man  in  silk  stock- 
ings and  a  cloak  cast  alternately  at  his  signboard  and  into 
the  depths  of  his  shop.  The  daylight  was  now  brighter,  and 
enabled  the  stranger  to  discern  the  cashier's  corner  enclosed 
by  a  railing  and  screened  bv  old  orreen  silk  curtains,  where 


8 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  CAT  AND  RACKET 


were  kept  the  immense  ledgers,  the  silent  oracles  of  the 
house.  The  too  inquisitive  gazer  seemed  to  covet  this  little 
nook,  and  to  be  taking  the  plan  of  a  dining-room  at  one  side, 
lighted  by  a  skylight,  whence  the  family  at  meals  could  easily 
see  the  smallest  incident  that  might  occur  at  the  shop-door. 
So  much  affection  for  his  dwelling  seemed  suspicious  to  a 
trader  who  had  lived  long  enough  to  remember  the  law  of 
maximum  prices;  Monsieur  Guillaume  naturally  thought  that 
this  sinister  personage  had  an  eye  to  the  till  of  the  Cat  and 
Eacket.  After  quietly  observing  the  mute  duel  which  was 
going  on  between  his  master  and  the  stranger,  the  eldest 
of  the  apprentices,  having  seen  that  the  young  man  was 
stealthily  watching  the  windows  of  the  third  floor,  ventured 
to  place  himself  on  the  stone  flag  where  Monsieur  Guillaume 
was  standing.  He  took  two  steps  out  into  the  street,  raised 
his  head,  and  fancied  that  he  caught  sight  of  Mademoiselle 
Augustine  Guillaume  in  hasty  retreat.  The  draper,  annoyed 
by  his  assistant's  perspicacity,  shot  a  side  glance  at  him; 
but  the  draper  and  his  amorous  apprentice  were  suddenly 
relieved  from  the  fears  which  the  young  man's  presence  had 
excited  in  their  minds.  He  hailed  a  hackney  cab  on  its  way 
to  a  neighboring  stand,  and  jumped  into  it  with  an  air  of 
affected  indifference.  This  departure  was  a  balm  to  the  hearts 
of  the  other  two  lads,  Avho  had  been  somewhat  uneasy  as  to 
meeting  the  victim  of  their  practical  joke. 

"Well,  gentlemen,  what  ails  you  that  you  are  standing 
there  with  your  arms  folded?"  said  Monsieur  Guillaume  to 
his  three  neophytes.  "In  former  days,  bless  you,  when  I 
was  in  Master  Chevrel's  service,  I  should  have  overhauled 
more  than  two  pieces  of  cloth  by  this  time." 

"Then  it  was  daylight  earlier,"  said  the  second  assistant, 
whose  duty  this  was. 

The  old  shopkeeper  could  not  help  smiling.  Though  two 
of  these  young  fellows,  who  were  confided  to  his  care  by  their 
fathers,  rich  manufacturers  at  Louviers  and  at  Sedan,  had 
only  to  ask  and  to  have  a  hundred  thousand  francs  the  day 
when  they  were  old  enough  to  settle  in  life,  Guillaume  re- 


AT  THH  SIGN  OF  THE  CAT  AND  llAOKET 


0 


garded  it  as  his  duty  to  keep  them  under  the  rod  of  an  old- 
world  despotism,  unknown  nowadays  in  the  showy  modern 
shops,  where  the  apprentices  expect  to  be  rich  men  at  thirty. 
He  made  them  work  like  negroes.  These  three  assistants  were 
equal  to  a  business  which  would  harry  ten  such  clerks  as  those 
whose  sybaritical  tastes  now  swell  the  columns  of  the  budget. 
Not  a  sound  disturbed  the  peace  of  this  solemn  house,  where 
the  hinges  were  always  oiled,  and  where  the  meanest  article 
of  furniture  showed  the  respectable  cleanliness  which  reveals 
strict  order  and  economy.  The  most  waggish  of  the  three 
youths  often  amused  himself  by  writing  the  date  of  its  first 
appearance  on  the  Gruyere  cheese  which  was  left  to  their  ten- 
der mercies  at  breakfast,  and  which  it  was  their  pleasure  to 
leave  untouched.  This  bit  of  mischief,  and  few  others  of  the 
same  stamp,  would  sometimes  bring  a  smile  on  the  face  of 
the  younger  of  Guillaume's  daughters,  the  pretty  maiden  who 
has  just  now  appeared  to  the  bewitched  man  in  the  street. 

Though  each  of  the  apprentices,  even  the  eldest,  paid  a 
round  sum  for  his  board,  not  one  of  them  would  have  been 
bold  enough  to  remain  at  the 'master's  table  when  dessert  was 
served.  When  Madame  Guillaume  talked  of  dressing  the 
salad,  the  hapless  youths  trembled  as  they  thought  of  the 
thrift  with  which  her  prudent  hand  dispensed  the  oil.  They 
could  never  think  of  spending  a  night  away  from  the  house 
without  having  given,  long  before,  a  plausible  reason  for  such 
an  irregularity.  Every  Sunday,  each  in  his  turn,  two  of  them 
accompanied  the  Guillaume  family  to  mass  at  Saint-Leu,  and 
to  vespers.  Mesdemoiselles  Virginie  and  Augustine,  simply 
attired  in  cotton  print,  each  took  the  arm  of  an  apprentice 
and  walked  in  front,  under  the  piercing  eye  of  their  mother, 
who  closed  the  little  family  procession  with  her  husband, 
accustomed  by  her  to  carry  two  large  prayer-books,  bound  in 
black  morocco.  The  second  apprentice  received  no  salary. 
As  for  the  eldest,  whose  twelve  years  of  perseverance  and  dis- 
cretion had  initiated  him  into  the  secrets  of  the  house,  he  was 
paid  eight  hundred  francs  a  year  as  the  reward  of  his 
labors.    On  certain  family  festivals  he  received  as  a  gratuity 


to  AT  THE  SIGN  OP  THE  CAT  AND  RACKET 

some  little  gift,  to  which  Madame  Guillaume's  dry  and 
wrinkled  hand  alone  gave  value — netted  purses,  which  she 
took  care  to  stuff  with  cotton  wool,  to  show  off  the  fancy 
stitches,  braces  of  the  strongest  make,  or  heavy  silk  stockings. 
Sometimes,  but  rarel}^,  this  prime  minister  was  admitted  to 
share  the  pleasures  of  the  family  when  they  went  into  the 
country,  or  when,  after  waiting  for  months,  they  made  up 
their  mind  to  exert  the  right  acquired  by  taking  a  box  at  the 
theatre  to  command  a  piece  which  Paris  had  already  for- 
gotten. 

As  to  the  other  assistants,  the  barrier  of  respect  which 
formerly  divided  a  master  draper  from  his  apprentices  was 
so  firmly  established  between  them  and  the  old  shopkeeper, 
that  they  would  have  been  more  likely  to  steal  a  piece  of 
cloth  than  to  infringe  this  time-honored  etiquette.  Such 
reserve  may  now  appear  ridiculous ;  but  these  old  houses  were 
a  school  of  honesty  and  sound  morals.  The  masters  adopted 
their  apprentices.  The  young  man's  linen  was  cared  for, 
mended,  and  often  replaced  by  the  mistress  of  the  house.  If 
an  apprentice  fell  ill,  he  was  the  object  of  truly  maternal 
attention.  In  a  case  of  danger  the  master  lavished  his  money 
in  calling  in  the  most  celebrated  physicians,  for  he  was  not 
answerable  to  their  parents  merely  for  the  good  conduct  and 
1;raining  of  the  lads.  If  one  of  them,  whose  character  was 
unimpeachable,  suffered  misfortune,  these  old  tradesmen  knew 
how  to  value  the  intelligence  he  had  displayed,  and  they  did 
not  hesitate  to  entrust  the  happiness  of  their  daughters  to 
men  whom  they  had  long  trusted  with  their  fortunes. 
Guillaume  was  one  of  these  men  of  the  old  school,  and  if  he 
had  their  ridiculous  side,  he  had  all  their  good  qualities; 
and  Joseph  Lebas,  the  chief  assistant,  an  orphan  without  any 
fortune,  was  in  his  mind  destined  to  be  the  husband  of  Vir- 
ginie,  his  elder  daughter.  But  Joseph  did  not  share  the  sym- 
metrical ideas  of  his  master,  who  would  not  for  an  empire 
have  given  his  second  daughter  in  marriage  before  the  elder. 
The  unhappy  assistant  felt  that  his  heart  was  wholly  given 
to  Mademoiselle  Augustine,  the  younger.   In  order  to  justify 


V 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  CAT  AND  RACKET  11 


this  passion,  which  had  grown  up  in  secret,  it  is  necessary  to 
inquire  a  little  further  into  the  springs  of  the  absolute  gov- 
ernment which  ruled  the  old  cloth-merchant's  household. 

Guillaume  had  two  daughters.  The  elder,  Mademoiselle 
Virginie,  was  the  very  image  of  her  mother.  Madame 
Guillaume,  daughter  of  the  Sieur  Chevrel,  sat  so  upright  in 
the  stool  behind  her  desk,  that  more  than  once  she  had  heard 
some  wag  bet  that  she  was  a  stuffed  figure.  Her  long,  thin 
face  betrayed  exaggerated  piety.  Devoid  of  attractions  or  of 
amiable  manners,  Madame  Guillaume  commonly  decorated 
her  head — that  of  a  woman  near  on  sixty — 'wdth  a  cap  of  a 
particular  and  unvarying  shape,  with  long  lappets,  like  that  of 
a  widow.  In  all  the  neighborhood  she  was  known  as  the 
"portress  nun."  Her  speech  was  curt,  and  her  movements 
had  the  stiff  precision  of  a  semaphore.  Her  eye,  with  a 
gleam  in  it  like  a  cat's,  seemed  to  spite  the  world  because  she 
was  so  ugly.^  Mademoiselle  Virginie,  brought  up,  like  her 
younger  sister,  under  the  domestic  rule  of  her  mother,  had 
reached  the  age  of  eight-and-twenty.  Youth  mitigated  the 
graceless  effect  which  her  likeness  to  her  mother  sometimes 
gave  to  her  features,  but  maternal  austerity  had  endowed  her 
with  two  great  qualities  which  made  up  for  everything.  She 
was  patient  and  gentle.  Mademoiselle  Augustine,,  who  was 
but  just  eighteen,  was  not  like  either  her  father  or  her 
mother.  She  was  one  of  those  daughters  whose  total  ab- 
sence of  any  physical  affinity  with  their  parents  makes  one 
believe  in  the  adage:  "God  gives  children."  Augustine  was 
little,  or,  to  describe  her  more  truly,  delicately  made.  Full 
of  gracious  candor,  a  man  of  the  world  could  have  found  no 
fault  in  the  charming  girl  beyond  a  certain  meanness  of 
gesture  or  vulgarity  of  attitude,  and  sometimes  a  want  of 
ease.  Her  silent  and  placid  face  was  full  of  the  transient 
.melancholy  which  comes  over  all  young  girls  who  are  too 
weak  to  dare  to  resist  their  mother's  will. 

The  two  sisters,  always  plainly  dressed,  could  not  gratify 
the  innate  vanity  of  womanhood  but  by  a  luxury  of  cleanli- 
ness which  became  them  wonderfully,  and  made  them  har- 


12  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  CAT  AND  RACKET 

monize  with  the  polished  counters  and  the  shining  shelves, 
on  which  the  old  man-servant  never  left  a  speck  of  dust,  and 
with  the  old-world  simplicity  of  all  they  saw  about  them.  As 
their  style  of  living  compelled  them  to  find  the  elements  of 
happiness  in  persistent  work,  Angustine  and  Virginie 
had  hitherto  always  satisfied  their  mother,  who  secretly 
prided  herself  on  the  perfect  characters  of  her  two  daugh- 
ters. It  is  easy  to  imagine  the  results  of  the  training  they, 
had  received.  Brought  up  to  a  commercial  life,  accustomed 
to  hear  nothing  but  dreary  arguments  and  calculations  about 
trade,  having  studied  nothing  but  grammar,  book-keeping, 
a  little  Bible-history,  and  the  history  of  France  in  Le  Ragois, 
and  never  reading  any  book  but  those  their  mother  would 
sanction,  their  ideas  had  not  acquired  much  scope.  They 
knew  perfectly  how  to  keep  house ;  they  were  familiar  .with 
the  prices  of  things ;  they  understood  the  difficulty  of  amass- 
ing money;  they  were  economical,  and  had  a  great  respect 
for  the  qualities  that  make  a  man  of  business.  Although 
their  father  was  rich,  they  were  as  skilled  in  darning  as  in 
embroidery ;  their  mother  often  talked  of  having  them  taught 
to  cook,  so  that  they  might  know  how  to  order  a  dinner  and 
scold  a  cook  with  due  knowledge.  They  knew  nothing  of 
the  pleasures  of  the  world;  and,  seeing  how  their  parents 
spent  their  exemplary  lives,  they  very  rarely  suffered  their 
eyes  to  wander  beyond  the  walls  of  their  hereditary  home, 
which  to  their  mother  was  the  whole  universe.  The  meetings 
to  which  family  anniversaries  gave  rise  filled  in  the  future 
of  earthly  joy  to  them. 

When  the  great  drawing-room  on  the  second  floor  was  to 
be  prepared  to  receive  company — Madame  Roquin,  a 
Demoiselle  Chevrel,  fifteen  months  younger  than  her  cousin, 
and  bedecked  with  diamonds;  young  Rabourdin,  employed  in 
the  Finance  Office;  Monsieur  Cesar  Birotteau,  the  rich  per-' 
fumer,  and  his  wife,  known  as  Madame  Cesar;  Monsieur 
Camusot,  the  richest  silk  mercer  in  the  Rue  des  Bourdonnais, 
with  his  father-in-law,  Monsieur  Cardot,  two  or  three  old 
bankers,  and  some  itiiniaculatc  ladies — the  arrangements, 


AT  THE  SIGN  OP  THE  CAT  AND  RACKET 


13 


made  necessary  by  the  way  in  which  everything  was  packed 
away — the  plate,  the  Dresden  china^  the  candlesticks,  and 
the  glass — made  a  variety  in  the  monotonous  lives  of  the 
three  women,  who  came  and  went  and  exerted  themselves 
as  nuns  would  to  receive  their  bishop.  Then,  in  the  evening; 
when  all  three  were  tired  out  with  having  wiped,  rubbed, 
unpacked,  and  arranged  all  the  gauds  of  the  festival,  as  the 
girls  heJped  their  mother  to  undress,  Madame  Guillaume 
would  say  to  them,  "Children,  we  have  done  nothing  to- 
day." 

When,  on  very  great  occasions,  "the  portress  nun"  allowed 
dancing,  restricting  the  games  of  boston,  whist,  and  back- 
gammon within  the  limits  of  h^r  bedroom,  such  a  concession 
was  accounted  as  the  most  unhoped  felicity,  and  made  them 
happier  than  going  to  the  great  balls,  to  two  or  three  of 
which  Guillaume  would  take  the  girls  at  the  time  of  the 
Carnival. 

And  once  a  year  the  worthy  draper  gave  an  entertain^ 
ment,  when  he  spared  no  expense.  However  rich  and  fash- 
ionable the  persons  invited  might  be,  they  were  careful  not 
to  be  absent ;  for  the  most  important  houses  on  the  exchange 
had  recourse  to  the  immense  credit,  the  fortune,  or  the 
time-honored  experience  of  Monsieur  Guillaume.  Still,  the 
excellent  merchant's  two  daughters  did  not  benefit  as  much 
as  might  be  supposed  by  the  lessons  the  world  has  to  offer 
to  young  spirits.  At  these  parties,  which  were  indeed  set 
down  in  the  ledger  to  the  credit  of  the  house,  they  wore 
dresses  the  shabbiness  of  which  made  them  blush.  Their 
style  of  dancing  was  not  in  any  way  remarkable,  and  their 
mother's  surveillance  did  not  allow  of  their  holding  any  con- 
versation with  their  partners  beyond  Yes  and  No.  Also,  the 
law  of  the  old  sign  of  the  Cat  and  Kacket  commanded  that 
they  should  be  home  by  eleven  o'clock,  the  hour  when  balls 
and  fetes  begin  to  be  lively.  Thus  their  pleasures,  which 
seemed  to  conform  very  fairly  to  their  fathei-'s  position,  were 
often  made  insipid  by  circumstances  which  were  part  of  the 
family  habits  and  principles* 


14 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  CAT  AND  RACKET 


As  to  their  usual  life^,  one  remark  will  sufficiently  paint  it. 
Madame  Guillaume  required  her  daughters  to  be  dressed  very 
early  in  the  morning,  to  come  down  every  day  at  the  same 
hour,  and  she  ordered  their  employments  with  monastic  regu- 
larity. Augustine,  however,  had  been  gifted  by  chance  with 
a  spirit  lofty  enough  to  feel  the  emptiness  of  such  a  life 
Her  blue  eyes  would  sometimes  be  raised  as  if  to  pierce  the 
depths  of  that  gloomy  staircase  and  those  damp  store-rooms. 
After  sounding  the  profound  cloistral  silence,  she  seemed 
to  be  listening  to  remote,  inarticulate  revelations  of  the  life 
of  passion,  which  accounts  feelings  as  of  higher  value  than 
things.  And  at  such  moments  her  cheek  would  flush,  her  idle 
hands  would  lay  the  muslin  sewing  on  the  polished  oak 
counter,  and  presently  her  mother  would  say  in  a  voice,  of 
which  even  the  softest  tones  were  sour,  "Augustine,  my  treas- 
ure, what  are  you  thinking  about?"  It  is  possible  that  two 
romances  discovered  by  Augustine  in  the  cupboard  of  a  cook 
Madame  Guillaume  had  lately  discharged — Hippolyte  Comte 
de  Douglas  and  Le  Comte  de  Comminges — may  have  con- 
tributed to  develop  the  ideas  of  the  young  girl,  who  had  de- 
voured them  in  secret,  during  the  long  nights  of  the  past 
winter. 

And  so  Augustine's  expression  of  vague  longing,  her  gentle 
voice,  her  jasmine  skin,  and  her  blue  eyes  had  lighted  in  poor 
Lebas'  soul  a  flame  as  ardent  as  it  was  reverent.  From  an 
easily  understood  caprice,  Augustine  felt  no  affection  for  the 
orphan;  perhaps  because  she  did  not  know  that  he  loved  her. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  senior  apprentice,  with  his  long  legs, 
his  chestnut  hair,  his  big  hands  and  powerful  frame,  had 
found  a  secret  admirer  in  Mademoiselle  Virginie,  who,  in 
spite  of  her  dower  of  fifty  thousand  crowns,  had  as  yet  no 
suitor.  Nothing  could  be  more  natural  than  these  two  pas- 
sions at  cross-purposes,  born  in  the  silence  of  the  dingy 
shop,  as  violets  bloom  in  the  depths  of  a  wood.  The  mute 
and  constant  looks  which  made  the  young  people's  eyes  meet 
by  sheer  need  of  change  in  the  midst  of  persistent  work  and 
cloistered  peace,  was  sure,  sooiaer  or  later,  to  give  rise  to 


AT  THE  SIGN  OP  THE  CAT  AND  RACKET  15 

« 

feelings  of  love.  The  habit  of  seeing  always  the  same  face 
leads  insensibly  to  our  reading  there  the  qualities  of  the  souL 
and  at  last  effaces  all  its  defects. 

"At  the  pace  at  which  that  man  goes,  our  girls  will  soon 
have  to  go  on  their  knees  to  a  suitor !"  said  Monsieur  Guil- 
laume  to  himself,  as  he  read  the  first  decree  by  which  Na- 
poleon drew  in  advance  on  the  conscript  classes. 

From  that  day  the  old  merchant,  grieved  at  seeing  his  eld- 
est daughter  fade,  remembered  how  he  had  married  Made- 
moiselle Chevrel  under  much  the  same  circumstances  as  those 
of  Joseph  Lebas  and  Virginie.  A  good  bit  of  business,  to 
marry  off  his  daughter,  and  discharge  a  sacred  debt  by  re- 
paying to  an  orphan  the  benefit  he  had  formerly  received 
from  his  predecessor  under  similar  conditions !  Joseph 
Lebas,  who  was  now  three-and-thirty,  was  aware  of  the  ob- 
stacle which  a  difference  of  fifteen  years  placed  between  Au- 
gustine and  himself.  Being  also  too  clear-sighted  not  to  un- 
derstand  Monsieur  Guillaume's  purpose,  he  knew  his  inex- 
orable principles  well  enough  to  feel  sure  that  the  second 
would  never  marry  before  the  elder.  So  the  hapless  as- 
sistant, whose  heart  was  as  warm  as  his  legs  were  long  and 
his  chest  deep,  suffered  in  silence. 

This  was  the  state  of  affairs  in  the  tiny  republic  which, 
in  the  heart  of  the  Eue  Saint-Denis,  was  not  unlike  a  de- 
pendency of  La  Trappe.  But  to  give  a  full  account  of  events 
as  well  as  of  feelings,  it  is  needful  to  go  back  to  some  months 
before  the  scene  with  which  this  story  opens.  At  dusk  one 
evening,  a  young  man  passing  the  darkened  shop  of  the  Cat 
and  Racket,  had  paused  for  a  moment  to  gaze  at  a  picture 
which  might  have  arrested  every  painter  in  the  world.  The 
shop  was  not  yet  lighted,  and  was  as  a  dark  cave  beyond 
which  the  dining-room  was  visible.  A  hanging  lamp  shed 
the  yellow  light  which  lends  such  charm  to  pictures  of  the 
Dutch  school.  The  white  linen,  the  silver,  the  cut  glass,  were 
brilliant  accessories,  and  made  more  picturesque  by  strong 
-contrasts  of  light  and  shade.  The  figures  of  the  head  of  the 
family  and  his  wife,  the  faces  of  the  apprentices,  and  the 


16  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  GAT  AND  RACKET 

pure  form  of  Augustine,  near  whom  a  fat  chubby-cheeked 
maid  was  standing,  composed  so  strange  a  group;  the  heads 
were  so  singular,  and  every  face  had  so  candid  an  expres- 
sion ;  it  was  so  easy  to  read  the  peace,  the  silence,  the  modest 
way  of  life  in  this  family,  that  to  an  artist  accustomed  to 
render  nature,,  there  was  something  hopeless  in  any  attempt 
ito  depict  this  scene,  come  upon  by  chance.  The  stranger 
was  a  young  painter,  who,  seven  years  before,  had  gained  the 
first  prize  for  painting.  He  had  now  just  come  back  from 
Rome.  His  soul,  full-fed  with  poetry;  his  eyes,  satiated 
with  Raphael  and  Michael  Angelo,  thirsted  for  real  nature 
after  long  dwelling  in  the  pompous  land  where  art  has  every- 
where left  something  grandiose.  Right  or  wrong,  this  was 
his  personal  feeling.  His  heart,  which  had  long  been  a  prey 
to  the  fire  of  Italian  passion,  craved  one  of  those  modest  and 
meditative  maidens  whom  in  Rome  he  had  unfortunately 
seen  only  in  painting.  From  the  enthusiasm  produced  in 
his  excited  fancy  by  the  living  picture  before  him,  he  naturally 
passed  to  a  profound  admiration  for  the  principal  figure; 
Augustine  seeined  to  be  pensive,  and  did  not  eat;  by  the  ar- 
rangement of  the  lamp  the  light  fell  full  on  her  face,  and 
her  bust  seemed  to  move  in  a  circle  of  fire,  which  threw  up 
the  shape  of  her  head  and  illuminated  it  with  almost  super- 
natural effect.  The  artist  involuntarily  compared  her  to  an 
exiled  angel  dreaming  of  heaven.  An  almost  unknown  emo- 
tion, a  limpid,  seething  love  flooded  his  heart.  After  remain- 
ing a  minute,  overwhelmed  by  the  weight  of  his  ideas,  he  tore 
himself  from  his  bliss,  went  home,  ate  nothing,  and  could 
not  sleep. 

The  next  day  he  went  to  his  studio,  and  did  not  come  out 
of  it  till  he  had  placed  on  canvas  the  magic  of  the  scene  of 
which  the  memory  had,  in  a  sense,  made  him  a  devotee;  his 
happiness  was  incomplete  till  he  should  possess  a  faithful 
portrait  of  his  idol.  He  went  many  times  past  the  house  of 
the  Cat  and  Racket;  he  even  ventured  in  once  or  twice, 
under  a  disguise,  to  get  a  closer  view  of  the  bewitching 
creature  that  Madame  Guillaume  covered  with  her  wing.  For 


A\  THE  SIGN  OP  THE  CAT  AND  RACKET  1*? 

eight  whole  months,  devoted  to  his  love  and  to  his  brush,  he 
was  lost  to  the  sight  of  his  most  intimate  friends,  forgetting 
the  worlds  the  theatre,  poetry,  music,  and  all  his  dearest 
habits.  One  morning  Girodet  broke  through  all  the  barriers 
with  which  artists  are  familiar,  and  which  they  know  how  to 
evade,  ^vent  into  his  room,  and  woke  him  by  asking,  ^^What 
;are  you  going  to  send  to  the  Salon  The  artist  grasped  his 
friend's  hand,  dragged  him  off  to  the  studio,  uncovered  a 
small  easel  picture  and  a  portrait.  After  a  long  and  eager 
study  of  the  two  masterpieces,  Girodet  threw  himself  on  his 
comrade's  neck  and  hugged  him,  without  speaking  a  word. 
His  feelings  could  only  be  expressed  as  he  felt  them — soul  to 
soul. 

"You  are  in  love  ?"  said  Girodet. 

They  both  knew  that  the  finest  portraits  by  Titian,  Ea- 
phael,,  and  Leonardo  da  Vinci,  were  the  outcome  of  the  en- 
thusiastic sentiments  by  which,  indeed,  under  various  con- 
ditions, every  masterpiece  is  engendered.  The  artist  only 
bent  his  head  in  reply. 

"How  happy  are  you  to  be  able  to  be  in  love,  here,  after 
coming  back  from  Italy !  But  I  do  not  advise  you  to  send 
such  works  as  these  to  the  Salon,"  the  great  painter  went  on. 
"You  see,  these  two  works  will  not  be  appreciated.  Such 
true  coloring,  such  prodigious  work,  cannot  yet  be  understood ; 
the  public  is  not  accustomed  to  such  depths.  The  pictures  we 
paint,  my  dear  fellow,  are  mere  screens.  We  should  do  better 
to  turn  rhymes,  and  translate  the  antique  poets!  There  is 
more  glory  to  be  looked  for  there  than  from  our  luckless  can- 
vases V 

Notwithstanding  this  charitable  advice,  the  two  pictures 
were  exhibited.  The  Interior  made  a  revolution  in  painting. 
It  gave  birth  to  the  pictures  of  genre  which  pour  into  all  our 
exhibitions  in  such  prodigious  quantity  that  they  might  be 
supposed  to  be  produced  by  machinery.  As  to  the  portrait, 
few  artists  have  forgotten  that  lifelike  work;  and  the  public, 
which  as  a  body  is  sometimes  discerning,  awarded  it  the 
crown  which  Girodet  himself  had  hung  over  it.    The  twc? 


18  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  CAT  AND  RACKET 

pictures  were  surrounded  by  a  vast  throng.  They  fought 
for  places,  as  women  say.  Speculators  and  moneyed  men 
would  have  covered  the  canvas  with  double  napoleons,  but 
the  artist  obstinately  refused  to  sell  or  to  make  replicas.  An 
enormous  sum  was  offered  him  for  the  right  of  engraving 
them,  and  the  print-sellers  were  not  more  favored  than  the 
amateurs. 

Though  these  incidents  occupied  the  world,  they  were  not 
of  a  nature  to  penetrate  the  recesses  of  the  monastic  solitude 
in  the  Eue  Saint-Denis.  However,  when  paying  a  visit  to 
Madame  Guillaume,  the  notary's  wife  spoke  of  the  exhibi- 
tion before  Augustine,  of  whom  she  was  very  fond,  and  ex- 
plained its  purpose.  Madame  Roquin's  gossip  naturally  in- 
spired Augustine  with  a  wish  to  see  the  pictures,  and  with 
courage  enough  to  ask  her  cousin  secretly  to  take  her  to  the 
Louvre.  Her  cousin  succeeded  in  the  negotiations  she  opened 
with  Madame  Guillaume  for  permission  to  release  the  young 
girl  for  two  hours  from  her  dull  labors.  Augustine  was  thus 
able  to  make  her  way  through  the  crowd  to  see  the  crowned 
work.  A  fit  of  trembling  shook  her  like  an  aspen  leaf  as  she 
recognized  herself.  She  was  terrified,  and  looked  about  her  to 
find  Madame  Eoquin,  from  whom  she  had  been  separated  by  a 
tide  of  people.  At  that  moment  her  frightened  eyes  fell 
on  the  impassioned  face  of  the  young  painter.  She  at  once 
recalled  the  figure  of  a  loiterer  whom,  being  curious,  she  had 
frequently  observed,  believing  him  to  be  a  new  neighbor. 

"You  see  how  love  has  inspired  me,"  said  the  artist  in  the 
timid  creature's  ear,  and  she  stood  in  dismay  at  the  words. 

She  found  supernatural  courage  to  enable  her  to  push 
through  the  crowd  and  join  her  cousin,  who  was  still  strug- 
gling with  the  mass  of  people  that  hindered  her  from  getting 
to  the  picture. 

"You  will  be  stifled !"  cried  Augustine.   "Let  us  go." 

But  there  are  moments,  at  the  Salon,  when  two  v/omen  are 
not  always  free  to  direct  their  steps  through  the  galleries. 
By  the  irregular  course  to  which  they  were  compelled  by  the 
press.  Mademoiselle  Guillaume  and  her  cousin  were  pushed 


AT  THl^]  SIGN  OF  THE  CAT  AND  RACKET  19 

to  within  a  few  steps  of  the  second  picture.  Chance  thus 
brought  them,  both  together,  to  where  they  could  easily  see 
the  canvas  made  famous  by  fashion,  for  once  in  agreement 
with  talent.  Madame  Eoquin's  exclamation  of  surprise  was 
lost  in  the  hubbub  and  buzz  of  the  crowd;  Augustine  invol- 
untarily shed  tears  at  the  sight  of  this  wonderful  study. 
Then,  by  an  almost  unaccountable  impulse,  she  laid  her 
finger  on  her  lips,  as  she  perceived  quite  near  her  the  ecstatic 
face  of  the  young  painter.  The  stranger  replied  by  a  nod, 
and  pointed  to  Madame  Eoquin,  as  a  spoil-sport,  to  show  Au- 
gustine that  he  had  understood.  This  pantomime  struck  the 
young  girl  like  hot  coals  on  her  flesh;  she  felt  quite  guilty 
as  she  perceived  that  there  was  a  compact  between  herself  and 
the  artist.  The  suffocating  heat,  the  dazzling  sight  of  beauti- 
ful dresses,  the  bewilderment  produced  in  Augustine's  brain 
by  the  truth  of  coloring,  the  multitude  of  living  or  painted- 
figures,  the  profusion  of  gilt  frames,  gave  her  a  sense  of  in- 
toxication which  doubled  her  alarms.  She  would  perhaps  have 
fainted  if  an  unknown  rapture  had  not  surged  up  in  her 
heart  to  vivify  her  whole  being,  in  spite  of  this  chaos  of 
sensations.  She  nevertheless  believed  herself  to  be  under 
the  power  of  the  Devil,  of  whose  awful  snares  she  had  been 
warned  by  the  thundering  words  of  preachers.  This  mo- 
ment was  to  her  like  a  moment  of  madness.  She  found  her- 
self accompanied  to  her  cousin^s  carriage  by  the  young  man, 
radiant  with  joy  and  love.  Augustine,  a  prey  to  an  agita- 
tion new  to  her  experience,  an  intoxication  which  seemed  to 
abandon  her  to  nature,  listened  to  the  eloquent  voice  of  her 
heart,  and  looked  again  and  again  at  the  young  painter,  be- 
traying the  emotion  that  came  over  her.  Never  had  the 
bright  rose  of  her  cheeks  shown  in  stronger  contrast  with  the 
whiteness  of  her  skin.  The  artist  saw  her  beauty  in  all  its 
bloom,  her  maiden  modesty  in  all  its  glory.  She  herself 
felt  a  sort  of  rapture  mingled  with  terror  at  thinking  that 
her  presence  had  brought  happiness  to  him  whose  name  was 
on  every  lip,  and  whose  talent  lent  immortality  to  transient 
scenes.   She  was  loved !  It  was  impossible  to  doubt  it.  When 


20 


AT  THE  SIGN  OP  THE  CAT  AND  RACKET 


she  no  longer  saw  the  artist,  these  simple  words  still  echoed 
in  her  ear,  "Yon  see  how  love  has  inspired  me !"  And  the 
throbs  of  her  heart,  as  they  grew  deeper,  seemed  a  pain, 
her  heated  blood  revealed  so  many  nnknown  forces  in  her 
being.  She  affected  a  severe  headache  to  avoid  replying 
to  her  cousin's  questions  concerning  the  pictures ;  but  on  their 
return  Madame  Eoquin  could  not  forbear  from  speaking 
to  Madame  Guillaume  of  the  fame  that  had  fallen  on  the 
house  of  the  Cat  and  Racket,  and  Augustine  quaked  in  every 
limb  as  she  heard  her  mother  say  that  she  should  go  to  the 
Salon  to  see  her  house  there.  The  young  girl  again  declared 
herself  suffering,  and  obtained  leave  to  go  to  bed. 

"That  is  what  comes  of  sight-seeing,'^  exclaimed  Monsieur 
Guillaume — "a  headache.  And  is  it  so  very  amusing  to  see 
vn  a  picture  what  you  can  see  any  day  in  your  own  street? 
Don't  talk  to  me  of  your  artists !  Like  writers,  they  are  a 
atarveling  crew.  Why  the  devil  need  they  choose  my  house 
to  flout  it  in  their  pictures?" 

"It  may  help  to  sell  a  few  ells  more  of  cloth,"  said  Joseph 
Lebas. 

This  remark  did  not  protect  art  and  thought  from  being 
condemned  once  again  before  the  judgment-seat  of  trade. 
As  may  be  supposed,  these  speeches  did  not  infuse  much  hope 
into  Augustine,  who,  during  the  night,  gave  herself  up  to 
the  first  meditations  of  love.  The  events  of  the  day  were 
like  a  dream,  which  it  was  joy  to  recall  to  her  mind.  She 
was  initiated  into  the  fears,  the  hopes,  the  remorse,  all  the 
ebb  and  flow  of  feeling  which  could  not  fail  to  toss  a  heart 
so  simple  and  so  timid  as  hers.  What  a  void  she  perceived  in 
this  gloomy  house !  What  a  treasure  she  found  in  her  soul ! 
To  be  the  wife  of  a  genius,  to  share  his  glory !  What  ravages 
must  such  a  vision  make  in  the  heart  of  a  girl  brought  up 
among  such  a  family !  What  hopes  must  it  raise  in  a  young 
creature  who,  in  the  midst  of  sordid  elements,  had  pined  for 
a  life  of  elegance!  A  sunbeam  had  fallen  into  the  prison. 
Augustine  was  suddenly  in  love.  So  many  of  her  feelings 
were  soothed  that  she  succumbed  without  reflection.  At 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  CAT  AND  RACKET  21 

eighteen  does  not  love  hold  a  prism  between  the  world  and 
the  eyes  of  a  young  girl?  She  was  incapable  of  suspecting 
the  hard  facts  which  result  from  the  union  of  a  loving  woman 
with  a  man  of  imagination^  and  she  believed  herself  called 
to  make  him  happy,  not  seeing  any  disparity  between  herself 
and  him.  To  her  the  future  would  be  as  the  present.  When, 
next  day,  her  father  and  mother  returned  from  the  Salon, 
their  dejected  faces  proclaimed  some  disappointment.  In 
the  first  place,  the  painter  had  removed  the  two  pictures; 
and  then  Madame  Guillaume  had  lost  her  cashmere  shawl. 
But  the  news  that  the  pictures  had  disappeared  from  the 
walls  since  her  visit  revealed  to  Augustine  a  delicacy  of  senti- 
ment which  a  woman  can  always  appreciate,  even  by  instinct. 

On  the  morning  when,  on  his  way  home  from  a  ball,  Theo- 
dore de  Sommervieux — for  this  was  the  name  which  fame 
had  stamped  on  Augustine's  heart — had  been  squirted  on. 
by  the  apprentices  while  awaiting  the  appearance  of  his  art- 
less little  friend,  who  certainly  did  not  know  that  he  was 
there,  the  lovers  had  seen  each  other  for  the  fourth  time  only 
since  their  meeting  at  the  Salon.  The  difficulties  which  the 
rule  of  the  house  placed  in  the  way  of  the  painter's  ardent 
nature  gave  added  violence  to  his  passion  for  Augustine. 

How  could  he  get  near  to  a  young  girl  seated  in  a  counting- 
house  between  two  such  women  as  Mademoiselle  Virginie 
and  Madame  Guillaume  ?  How  could  he  correspond  with  her 
when  her  mother  never  left  her  side?  Ingenious,  as  lovers 
are,  to  imagine  woes,  Theodore  saw  a  rival  in  one  of  the 
assistants,  to  whose  interests  he  supposed  the  others  to  be 
devoted.  If  he  should  evade  these  sons  of  Argus,  he  would 
yet  be  wrecked  under  the  stern  eyes  of  the  old  draper  or  of 
Madame  Guillaume.  The  very  vehemence  of  his  passion 
hindered  the  young  painter  from  hitting  on  the  ingenious 
expedients  which,  in  prisoners  and  in  lovers,  seem  to  be  the 
last  effort  of  intelligence  spurred  by  a  wild  craving  for  lib- 
erty, or  by  the  fire  of  love.  Theodore  wandered  about  the 
neighborhood  with  the  restlessness  of  a  madman,  as  though 
movement  might  inspire  him  with  some  device.  After  racking 


22  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  CAT  AND  RACKET 

his  imagination,  it  occurred  to  him  to  bribe  the  blo\78y 
waiting-maid  with  gold.  Thus  a  few  notes  were  exchanged 
at  long  intervals  during  the  fortnight  following  the  ill-starred 
morning  when  Monsieur  Guillaume  and  Theodore  had  so 
scrutinized  one  another.  At  the  present  moment  the  young 
couple  had  agreed  to  see  each  other  at  a  certain  hour  of 
the  day,  and  on  Sunday,  at  Saint-Leu,  during  Mass  and 
vespers.  Augustine  had  sent  her  dear  Theodore  a  list  of 
the  relations  and  friends  of  the  family,  to  whom  the  young 
painter  tried  to  get  access,  in  the  hope  of  interesting,  if  it 
were  possible,  in  his  love  affairs,  one  of  these  souls  absorbed 
in  money  and  trade,  to  whom  a  genuine  passion  must  appear 
a  quite  monstrous  speculation,  a  thing  unheard-of.  Nothing 
meanwhile,  was  altered  at  the  sign  of  the  Cat  and  Racket. 
If  Augustine  was  absent-minded,  if,  against  all  obedience  to 
the  domestic  code,  she  stole  up  to  her  room  to  make  signals 
by  means  of  a  jar  of  flowers,  if  she  sighed,  if  she  were  lost  in 
thought,  no  one  observed  it,  not  even  her  mother.  This  will 
cause  some  surprise  to  those  who  have  entered  into  the  spirit 
of  the  household,  where  an  idea  tainted  with  poetry  would  be 
in  startling  contrast  to  persons  and  things,  where  no  one  could 
venture  on  a  gesture  or  a  look  which  would  not  be  seen  and 
analyzed.  Nothing,  however,  could  be  more  natural:  the 
quiet  barque  that  navigated  the  stormy  waters  of  the  Paris 
Exchange,  under  the  flag  of  the  Cat  and  Racket,  was  just  now 
in  the  toils  of  one  of  these  tempests  which,  returning  periodi- 
cally, might  be  termed  equinoctial.  For  the  last  fortnight 
the  five  men  forming  the  crew,  with  Madame  Guillaume  and 
Mademoiselle  Virginie,  had  been  devoting  themselves  to  the 
hard  labor,  known  as  stock-taking. 

Every  bale  was  turned  over,  and  the  length  yerified  to  ascer- 
tain the  exact  value  of  the  remnant.  The  ticket  attached  to 
each  parcel  was  carefully  examined  to  see  at  what  time  the 
piece  had  been  bought.  The  retail  price  was  fixed.  Monsieur 
Guillaume,  always  on  his  feet,  his  pen  behind  his  ear,  was 
like  a  captain  commanding  the  working  of  the  ship.  His 
sharp  tones,  spoken  through  a  trap-door,  to  inquire  into  the 


AT  THE  SIGN  OP  THE  CKT  AND  RACKET  23 

depths  of  the  hold  in  the  cellar-store,  gave  utterance  to  the 
barbarous  formulas  of  trade-jargon,  which  find  expression 
only  in  cipher.  ''How  much  H.N.Z.  "All  sold."— "What 
is  left  of  Q.  X.?"— "Two  ells."— "At  what  price  ?"— "Fifty- 
five  three." — "Set  down  A.  at  three,  with  all  of  J.  J.,  all  of 
M.  P.,  and  what  is  left  of  V.  D.  0." — A  hundred  other  in- 
junctions equally  intelligible  were  spouted  over  the  counters 
like  verses  of  modern  poetrj^  quoted  by  romantic  spirits,  to 
excite  each  other's  enthusiasm  for  one  of  their  poets.  In  the 
evening  Guillaume,  shut  up  with  his  assistant  and  his  wife, 
balanced  his  accounts,  carried  on  the  balance,  wrote  to  debtors 
in  arrears,  and  made  out  bills.  All  three  were  busy  over 
this  enormous  labor,  of  which  the  result  could  be  stated  on 
a  sheet  of  foolscap,  proving  to  the  head  of  the  house  that 
there  was  so  much  to  the  good  in  hard  cash,  so  much  in  goods, 
so  much  in  bills  and  notes ;  that  he  did  not  owe  a  sou ;  that  a 
hundred  or  two  hundred  thousand  francs  were  owing  to  him ; 
that  the  capital  had  been  increased;  that  the  farmlands,  the 
houses,  or  the  investments  were  extended,  or  repaired,  or 
doubled.  Whence  it  became  necessary  to  begin  again  with 
increased  ardor,  to  accumulate  more  crown-pieces,  without 
its  ever  entering  the  brain  of  these  laborious  ants  to  ask — 
"To  what  end?" 

Favored  by  this  annual  turmoil,  the  happy  Augustine  es- 
caped the  investigations  of  her  Argus-eyed  relations.  At 
last,  one  Saturday  evening,  the  stock-taking  was  finished. 
The  figures  of  the  sum-total  showed  a  row  of  O's  long  enough 
to  allow  Guillaume  for  once  to  relax  the  stern  rule  as  to 
dessert  which  reigned  throughout  the  year.  The  shrewd  old 
draper  rubbed  his  hands,  and  allowed  his  assistants  to  remain 
at  table..  The  members  of  the  crew  had  hardly  swallowed 
their  thimbleful  of  some  home-made  liqueur,  when  the 
rumble  of  a  carriage  was  heard.  The  family  party  were  going 
to  see  Cendrillon  at  the  Varietes,  while  the  two  younger  ap- 
prentices each  received  a  crown  of  six  francs,  with  permission 
to  go  wherever  they  chose,  provided  they  were  iu  by  mid- 
night. 


24 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  CAT  AND  RACKHT 


Notwithstanding  this  debauch,  the  old  cloth-merchant  was 
shaving-  himself  at  six  next  morning,  put  on  his  maroon- 
colored  coat,  of  which  the  glowing  lights  afforded  him  peren- 
nial enjoyment,  fastened  a  pair  of  gold  buckles  on  the  knee- 
straps  of  his  ample  satin  breeches;  and  then,  at  about  seven 
o'clock,  while  all  were  still  sleeping  in  the  house,  he  made 
his  way  to  the  little  office  adjoining  the  shop  on  the  first  floor. 
Daylight  came  in  through  a  window,  fortified  by  iron  bars, 
and  looking  out  on  a  small  yard  surrounded  by  such  black 
walls  that  it  was  very  like  a  well.  The  old  merchant  opened 
the  iron-lined  shutters,  which  were  so  familiar  to  him,  and 
threw  up  the  lower  half  of  the  sash  window.  The  icy  air  of 
the  courtyard  came  in  to  cool  the  hot  atmosphere  of  the 
little  room,  full  of  the  odor  peculiar  to  offices. 

The  merchant  remained  standing,  his  hand  resting  on  the 
greasy  arm  of  a  large  cane  chair  lined  with  morocco,  of  which 
the  original  hue  had  disappeared;  he  seemed  to  hesitate  as 
to  seating  himself.  He  looked  with  affection  at  the  double 
desk,  where  his  wife's  seat,  opposite  his  own,  was  fitted  into 
a  little  niche  in  the  wall.  He  contemplated  the  numbered 
boxes,  the  files,  the  implements,  the  cash  box — objects  all  of 
immemorial  origin,  and  fancied  himself  in  the  room  with 
the  shade  of  Master  Chevrel.  He  even  pulled  out  the  high 
stool  on  which  he  had  once  sat  in  the  presence  of  his  de- 
parted master.  This  stool,  covered  with  black  leather,  the 
horse-hair  showing  at  every  corner — as  it  had  long  done, 
without,  however,  coming  6ut — he  placed  with  a  shaking 
hand  on  the  very  spot  where  his  predecessor  had  put  it,  and 
then,  with  an  emotion  difficult  to  describe,  he  pulled  a  bell, 
which  rang  at  the  head  of  Joseph  Lebas'  bed.  When  this 
decisive  blow  had  been  struck,  the  old  man,  for  whom,  no 
doubt,  these  reminiscence?  v,^ero  too  much,  took  up  three  or 
four  bills  of  exchange,  and  looked  at  them  without  seeing 
them. 

Suddenly  Joseph  Lebas  stood  before  him. 

"Sit  down  there,"  said  Guillaume,  pointing  to  the  stooL 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  CAT  AND  RACKET 


25 


As  the  old  master  draper  had  never  yet  bid  his  assistant 
be  seated  in  his  presence,  J oseph  Lebas  was  startled. 
"What  do  you  think  of  these  notes  ?"  asked  Guillaume. 
"They  will  never  be  paid/' 
"Why?'' 

"Well,  I  heard  that  the  day  before  yesterday  £]tienne  and 
Co.  had  made  their  payments  in  gold." 

"Oh,  oh !"  said  the  draper.  "Well,  one  must  be  very  ill  to. 
show  one's  bile.  Let  us  speak  of  something  else. — J  oseph,  the 
stock-taking  is  done." 

"Yes,  monsieur,  and  the  dividend  is  one  of  the  best  you 
have  ever  made." 

"Do  not  use  new-fangled  words.  Say  the  profits,  Joseph. 
Do  you  know,  my  boy,  that  this  result  is  partly  owing  to  you  ? 
And  I  do  not  intend  to  pay  you  a  salary  any  longer.  Madame 
Guillaume  has  suggested  to  me  to  take  you  into  partnership. — 
*^Guillaume  and  Lebas  ;'  will  not  that  make  a  good  business 
name  ?  We  might  add,  ^and  Co.'  to  round  off  the  firm's  signa- 
ture." 

Tears  rose  to  the  eyes  of  Joseph  Lebas,  who  tried  to  hide 
them. 

"Oh,  Monsieur  Guillaume,  how  have  I  deserved  such  kind- 
ness? I  only  do  my  duty.  It  was  so  much  already  that  you 
should  take  an  interest  in  a  poor  orph  " 

He  was  brushing  the  cuff  of  his  left  sleeve  with  his  right 
hand,  and  dared  not  look  at  the  old  man,  who  smiled  as  ho 
thought  that  this  modest  young  fellow  no  doubt  needed,  as 
he  had  needed  once  on  a  time,  some  encouragement  to  com- 
plete his  explanation. 

"To  be  sure,"  said  Virginie's  father,  "you  do  not  alto- 
gether deserve  this  favor,  Joseph.  You  have  not  so  much 
confidence  in  me  as  I  have  in  you.  (The  young  man  looked 
up  quickly.)  You  know  all  the  secrets  of  the  cash-box.  For 
the  last  two  years  I  have  told  you  of  almost  all  my  concerns. 
I  have  sent  you  to  travel  in  our  goods.  In  short,  I  have  noth- 
ing on  my  conscience  as  regards  you.  Bid  you — you  have  a 
soft  place,  and  you  have  never  breathed  a  word  of  it."   Jo-  , 


26 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  CAT  AND  RACKET 


sepli  Lebas  blushed.  "Ah,  ha!"  cried  Guillaume,  ''^so  you 
thought  you  could  deceive  an  old  fox  like  me?  When  you 
knew  that  I  had  scented  the  Lecocq  bankruptcy 

"What,  monsieur?"  replied  Joseph  Lebas,  looking  at  his 
master  as  keenly  as  his  master  looked  at  him,  "you  knew  that 
I  was  in  love  ?" 

"I  know  everything,  you  rascal,"  said  the  worthy  and  cun- 
ning old  merchant,  pulling  the  assistant's  ear.  "And  I  for- 
give you — I  did  the  same  myself." 

"And  you  will  give  her  to  me  ?" 

"Yes — with  fifty  thousand  crowns;  and  I  will  leave  you 
as  much  by  will,  and  we  will  start  on  our  new  career  under 
the  name  of  a  new  firm.  We  will  do  good  business  yet,  my 
boy !"  added  the  old  man,  getting  up  and  flourishing  his 
arms.  "I  tell  you,  son-in-law,  there  is  nothing  like  trade. 
Those  who  ask  what  pleasure  is  to  be  found  in  it  are 
simpletons.  To  be  on  the  scent  of  a  good  bargain,  to  hold 
your  own  on  'Change,  to  watch  as  anxiously  as  at  the  gam- 
ing-table whether  Etienne  and  Co.  will  fail  or  no,  to  see  a 
regiment  of  Guards  march  past  all  dressed  in  your  cloth,  to 
trip  your  neighbor  up — honestly  of  course ! — to  make  the 
goods  cheaper  than  others  can;  then  to  carry  out  an  under- 
taking which  you  have  planned,  which  begins,  grows,  totters, 
and  succeeds !  to  know  the  workings  of  every  house  of  busi- 
ness as  well  as  a  minister  of  police,  so  as  never  to  make  a 
mistake;  to  hold  up  your  head  in  the  midst  of  wrecks,  to 
have  friends  by  correspondence  in  every  manufacturing  town ; 
is  not  that  a  perpetual  game,  J oseph  ?  That  is  life,  that  is ! 
I  shall  die  in  that  harness,  like  old  Chevrel,  but  taking  it 
easy  now,  all  the  same." 

In  the  heat  of  his  eager  rhetoric,  old  Guillaume  had 
scarcely  looked  at  his  assistant,  who  was  weeping  copiously. 
"Why,  Joseph,,  my  poor  boy,  what  is  the  matter  ?" 

"Oh,  I  love  her  so  !  Monsieur  Guillaume,  that  my  heart  fails 
me;  I  believe  " 

"Well,  well,  boy,"  said  the  old  man,  touched,  "you  are 
happier  than  you  know,  by  Gad !  For  she  loves  you  1  know 
it." 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  CAT  AND  RACKET 


27 


And  he  blinlved  his  little  green  eyes  as  he  looked  at  the 
young  man. 

"Mademoiselle  Augustine!  Mademoiselle  Augustine!"  ex- 
claimed Joseph  Lebas  in  his  rapture. 

He  was  about  to  rush  out  of  the  room  when  he  felt  him- 
self clutched  by  a  hand  of  iron,  and  his  astonished  master 
spun  him  round  in  front  of  him  once  more. 

"What  has  Augustine  to  do  with  this  matter?"  he  asked, 
in  a  voice  which  instantly  froze  the  luckless  Joseph. 

"Is  it  not  she  that — ^that — I  love?"  stammered  the  as- 
sistant. 

Much  put  out  by  his  own  want  of  perspicacity,  Gruillaume 
sat  down  again,  and  rested  his  long  head  in  his  hands  to 
consider  the  perplexing  situation  in  which  he  found  him- 
self. Joseph  Lebas,  shamefaced  and  in  despair,  remained 
standing. 

"Joseph,"  the  draper  said  with  frigid  dignity,  "I  wslh 
speaking  of  Virginie.  Love  cannot  be  made  to  order,  I 
know.  I  know,  too,  that  you  can  be  trusted.  We  will  for- 
get all  this.  I  will  not  let  Augustine  marry  before  Virginie. 
— Your  interest  will  be  ten  per  cent." 

The  young  man,  to  whom  love  gave  I  know  not  what  power 
of  courage  and  eloquence,  clasped  his  hand,  and  spoke  in  his 
turn — spoke  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  with  so  much  warmth 
and  feeling,  that  he  altered  the  situation.  If  the  question 
had  been  a  matter  of  business,  the  old  tradesman  would  have 
had  fixed  principles  to  guide  his  decision ;  but,  tossed  a  thou- 
sand miles  from  commerce,  on  the  ocean  of  sentiment,  with- 
out a  compass,  he  floated,  as  he  told  himself,  undecided  in  the 
face  of  such  an  unexpected  event.  Carried  away  by  his 
fatherly  kindness,  he  began  to  beat  about  the  bush. 

"Deuce  take  it,  Joseph,  you  must  know  that  there  are  ten 
years  between  my  two  children.  Mademoiselle  Chevrel  was 
no  beauty,  still  she  has  had  nothing  to  complain  of  in  me. 
Do  as  I  did.  Come,  come,  don't  cry.  Can  you  be  so  silly? 
What  is  to  be  done?  It  can  be  managed  perhaps.  There 
is  always  some  way  out  of  a  scrape.    And  we  men  are  not 


28  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OAT  AND  RACKET 


always  devoted  Celadons  to  our  wives — you  understand? 
Madame  Guillaume  is  very  pious.  .  .  .  Come.  By  Gad, 
boy,  give  your  arm  to  Augustine  this  morning  as  we  go  to 
Mass." 

These  were  the  phrases  spoken  at  random  by  the  old  draper, 
and  their  conclusion  made  the  lover  happy.  He  was  already 
thinking  of  a  friend  of  his  as  a  match  for  Mademoiselle  Vir- 
ginie,  as  he  went  out  of  the  smoky  office,  pressing  his  future 
father-in-law's  hand,  after  saying  with  a  knowing  look  that 
all  would  turn  out  for  the  best. 

"What  will  Madame  Guillaume  say  to  it?"  was  the  idea 
that  greatly  troubled  the  worthy  merchant  when  he  found 
himself  alone. 

At  breakfast  Madame  Guillaume  and  Virginie,  to  whom 
the  draper  had  not  as  yet  confided  his  disappointment,  cast 
meaning  glances  at  Joseph  Lebas,  who  was  extremely  embar- 
rassed. The  young  assistant's  bashfulness  commended  him 
to  his  mother-in-law's  good  graces.  The  matron  became  so 
cheerful  that  she  smiled  as  she  looked  at  her  husband,  and 
allowed  herself  some  little  pleasantries  of  time-honored  ac- 
ceptance in  such  simple  families.  She  wondered  whether 
Joseph  or  Virginie  were  the  taller,  to  ask  them  to  compare 
their  height.  This  preliminary  fooling  brought  a  cloud  to 
the  master's  brow,  and  he  even  made  such  a  point  of  decorum 
that  he  desired  Augustine  to  take  the  assistant's  arm  on  their 
way  to  Saint-Leu.  Madame  Guillaume,  surprised  at  this 
manly  delicacy,  honored  her  husband  with  a  nod  of  approval. 
So  the  procession  left  the  house  in  such  order  as  to  suggest 
no  suspicious  meaning  to  the  neighbors. 

"Does  it  not  seem  to  you,  Mademoiselle  Augustine,"  said 
the  assistant,  and  he  trembled,  "that  the  wife  of  a  merchant 
whose  credit  is  as  good  as  Monsieur  Guillaume's,  for  in- 
stance, might  enjoy  herself  a  little  more  than  Madame  your 
mother  does?  Might  wear  diamonds — or  keep  a  carriage? 
For  my  part,  if  I  were  to  marry,  I  should  be  glad  to  take 
all  the  work,  and  see  my  wife  happy.  I  would  not  put  her 
into  the  counting-house.    In  the  drapery  business,  you  see, 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  CAT  AND  RACKET 


29 


a  woman  is  not  so  necessary  now  as  formerly.  Monsieur 
Guillaume  was  quite  right  to  act  as  he  did — and  besides^ 
his  wife  liked  it.  But  so  long  as  a  woman  knows  how  to 
turn  her  hand  to  the  book-keeping,  the  correspondence,  the 
retail  business,  the  orders,  and  her  housekeeping,  so  as  not 
to  sit  idle,  that  is  enough.  At  seven  o'clock,  when  the  shop 
is  shut,  I  shall  take  my  pleasures,  go  to  the  play,  and  into 
company. — But  you  are  not  listening  to  me." 

"Yes,  indeed.  Monsieur  Joseph.  What  do  you  think  of 
painting?   That  is  a  fine  calling." 

"Yes.  I  know  a  master  house-painter.  Monsieur  Lourdois. 
He  is  well-to-do." 

Thus  conversing,  the  family  reached  the  Church  of  Saint- 
Leu.  There  Madame  Guillaume  reasserted  her  rights,  and, 
for  the  first  time,  placed  Augustine  next  herself,  Virginie 
taking  her  place  on  the  fourth  chair,  next  to  Lebas.  During 
the  sermon  all  went  well  between  Augustine  and  Theodore, 
who,  standing  behind  a  pillar,  worshiped  his  Madonna  with 
fervent  devotion;  but  at  the  elevation  of  the  Host,  Madame 
Guillaume  discovered,  rather  late,  that  her  daughter  Augus- 
tine was  holding  her  prayer-book  upside  down.  She  was 
about  to  speak  to  her  strongly,  when,  lowering  her  veil,  she 
interrupted  her  own  devotions  to  look  in  the  direction  where 
her  daughter's  eyes  found  attraction.  By  the  help  of  her 
spectacles  she  saw  the  young  artist,  whose  fashionable  ele- 
gance seemed  to  proclaim  him  a  cavalry  officer  on  leave  rather 
than  a  tradesman  of  the  neighborhood.  It  is  difficult  to  con- 
ceive of  the  state  of  violent  agitation  in  which  Madame  Guil- 
laume found  herself — she,  who  flattered  herself  on  having 
brought  up  her  daughters  to  perfection — on  discovering  in 
Aug-ustine  a  clandestine  passion  of  which  her  prudery  and 
ignorance  exaggerated  the  perils.  She  believed  her  daughter 
to  be  cankered  to  the  core. 

"Hold  your  book  right  way  up,  miss,"  she  muttered  in  a 
low  voice,  tremulous  with  wrath.  She  snatched  away  the 
tell-tale  prayer-book  and  returned  it  with  the  letter-press 
right  way  up.    "Do  not  allow  your  eyes  to  look  anj^here 


30 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  CAT  AND  RACKET 


but  at  your  prayers/'  she  added,  "or  I  shall  have  something 
to  say  to  you.  Your  father  and  I  will  talk  to  you  after 
church." 

These  words  came  like  a  thunderbolt  on  poor  Augustine. 
She  felt  faint;  but,  torn  between  the  distress  she  felt  and 
the  dread  of  causing  a  commotion  in  church,  she  bravely  con- 
cealed her  anguish.  It  was,  however,  easy  to  discern  the 
stormy  state  of  her  soul  from  the  trembling  of  her  prayer-, 
book,  and  the  tears  which  dropped  on  every  page  she  turned. 
From  the  furious  glare  shot  at  him  by  Madame  Guillaume 
the  artist  saw  the  peril  into  which  his  love  affair  had  fallen ; 
he  went  out,  with  a  raging  soul,  determined  to  venture  all. 

'^'^Go  to  your  room,,  miss !"  said  Madame  Guillaume,  on 
their  return  home;  "we  will  send  for  you,  but  take  care  not 
to  quit  it.'' 

The  conference  between  the  husband  and  wife  was  con- 
ducted so  secretly  that  at  first  nothing  was  heard  of  it. 
Virginie,  however,  who  had  tried  to  give  her  sister  courage 
by  a  variety  of  gentle  remonstrances,  carried  her  good  nature 
so  far  as  to  listen  at  the  door  of  her  mother's  bedroom  where 
the  discussion  was  held,  to  catch  a  word  or  two.  The  first 
time  she  went  down  to  the  lower  floor  she  heard  her  father 
exclaim,  "Then,  madame,  do  you  wish  to  kill  your  daughter  ?" 

"My  poor  dear !"  said  Virginie,  in  tears,  "papa  takes  your 
part." 

"And  what  do  they  want  to  do  to  Theodore?"  asked  the 
innocent  girl. 

Virginie,  inquisitive,  went  down  again;  but  this  time  she 
stayed  longer;  she  learned  that  Joseph  Lebas  loved  Augus- 
tine. It  was  written  that  on  this  memorable  day,  this  house, 
generally  so  peaceful,  should  be  a  hell.  Monsieur  Guillaume 
brought  Joseph  Lebas  to  despair  by  telling  him  of  Augus- 
tine's love  for  a  stranger.  Lebas,  who  had  advised  his 
friend  to  become  a  suitor  for  Mademoiselle  Virginie,  saw  all 
his  hopes  wrecked.  Mademoiselle  Virginie,  overcome  by 
hearing  that  Joseph  had,  in  a  way,  refused  her,  had  a  sick 
headache.    The  dispute  that  had  arisen  from  the  discussion 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  CAT  AND  RACKET  31 

between  Monsieur  and  Madame  Guillanme,  when,  for  the 
third  time  in  their  lives,  they  had  been  of  antagonistic 
opinions,  had  shown  itself  in  a  terrible  form.  Finally,  at 
half-past  four  in  the  afternoon,  Augustine,  pale,  trembling, 
and  with  red  eyes,  was  haled  before  her  father  and  mother. 
The  poor  child  artlessly  related  the  too  brief  tale  of  her  love. 
Reassured  by  a  speech  from  her  father,  who  promised  to 
listen  to  her  in  silence,  she  gathered  courage  as  she  pronounced 
to  her  parents  the  name  of  Theodore  de  Sommervieux,  with 
a  mischievous  little  emphasis  on  the  aristocratic  de.  And 
yielding  to  the  unknown  charm  of  talking  of  her  feelings, 
she  was  brave  enough  to  declare  with  innocent  decision  that 
she  loved  Monsieur  de  Sommervieux,  that  she  had  written 
to  him,  and  she  added,  with  tears  in  her  e3^es :  "To  sacrifice 
me  to  another  man  would  make  me  wretched." 

"But,  Augustine,  you  cannot  surely  know  what  a  painter 
is  ?"  cried  her  mother  with  horror. 

"Madame  Guillaume said  the  old  man,  compelling  her 
to  silence. — "Augustine,"  he  went  on,  "artists  are  generally 
little  better  than  beggars.  They  are  too  extravagant  not  to 
be  always  a  bad  sort.  I  served  the  late  Monsieur  Joseph 
Vernet,  the  late  Monsieur  Lekain,  and  the  late  Monsieur 
Noverre.  Oh,  if  you  could  only  know  the  tricks  played  on 
poor  Father  Chevrel  by  that  Monsieur  Noverre,  by  the  Chev- 
alier de  Saint-Georges,  and  especially  by  Monsieur  Philidor ! 
They  are  a  set  of  rascals ;  I  know  them  well !   They  all  have 

a  gab  and  nice  manners.    Ah,  your  Monsieur  Sumer  , 

Somm  " 

"De  Sommervieux,  papa." 

"Well^  well,  de  Sommervieux,  well  and  good.  He  can 
never  have  been  half  so  sweet  to  you  as  Monsieur  le  Chevalier 
de  Saint-Georges  was  to  me  the  day  I  got  a  verdict  of  the 
consuls  against  him.  And  in  those  days  they  were  gentlemen 
of  quality." 

"But,  father,  Monsieur  Theodore  is  of  good  family,  and 
he  wrote  me  that  he  is  rich ;  his  father  was  called  Chevalier 
de  Sommervieux  before  the  Revolution." 


32 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  CAT  AND  RACKET 


At  these  words  Monsieur  Guillaume  looked  at  his  terrible 
better  half,  who,  like  an  angry  woman,  sat  tapping  the  floor 
with  her  foot  while  keeping  sullen  silence;  she  avoided  even 
casting  wrathful  looks  at  Augustine,  appearing  to  leave  to 
Monsieur  Guillaume  the  whole  responsibility  in  so  grave  a 
matter,  since  her  opinion  was  not  listened  to.  Nevertheless, 
in  spite  of  her  apparent  self-control,  when  she  saw  her  hus- 
band giving  way  so  mildly  under  a  catastrophe  which  had  no 
concern  with  business,  she  exclaimed : 

"Eeally,  monsieur,  you  are  so  weak  with  your  daughters! 
However  

The  sound  of  a  carriage,  which  stopped  at  the  door,  inter- 
rupted the  rating  which  the  old  draper  already  quaked 
at.  In  a  minute  Madame  Roquin  was  standing  in  the  middle 
of  the  room,  and  looking  at  the  actors  in  this  domestic  scene : 
"I  know  all,  my  dear  cousin,"  said  she,  with  a  patronizing 
air. 

Madame  Roquin  made  the  great  mistake  of  supposing  that 
a  Paris  notary's  wife  could  play  the  part  of  a  favorite  of 
fashion. 

"I  know  all/'  she  repeated,  "and  I  have  come  into  Noah's 
Ark,  like  the  dove,  with  the  olive-branch.  I  read  that  alle- 
gory in  the  Genie  du  Christianisme/'  she  added,  turning  to 
Madame  Guillaume;  "the  allusion  ought  to  please  you, 
cousin.  Do  you  know,"  she  went  on,  smiling  at  Augustine, 
"that  Monsieur  de  Sommervieux  is  a  charming  man?  He 
gave  me  my  portrait  this  morning,  painted  by  a  master's 
hand.  It  is  worth  at  least  six  thousand  francs."  And  at 
these  words  she  patted  Monsieur  Guillaume  on  the  arm.  The 
old  draper  could  not  help  making  a  grimace  with  his  lips, 
which  was  peculiar  to  him. 

"I  know  Monsieur  de  Sommervieux  very  well,"  the  Dove 
ran  on.  "He  has  come  to  my  evenings  this  fortnight  past, 
and  made  them  delightful.  He  has  told  me  all  his  woes, 
and  commissioned  me  to  plead  for  him.  I  know  since  this 
morning  that  he  adores  xVugustine,  and  he  shall  have  her. 
A.h,  cousin,  do  not  shake  your  head  in  refusal.    He  will  be 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  CAT  AND  RACKET  33 

created  Baron,  I  can  tell  you,  and  has  just  been  made  Clieva- 
lier  of  the  Legion  of  Honor,  by  the  Emperor  himself,  at  the 
Salon.  Koquin  is  now  his  lawyer,  and  knows  all  his  affairs. 
Well !  Monsieur  de  Sommervieux  has  twelve  thousand  francs 
a  year  in  good  landed  estate.  Do  you  know  that  the  father- 
in-law  of  such  a  man  may  get  a  rise  in  life — be  mayor  of 
his  arrondissement,  for  instance.  Have  we  not  seen  Monsieur 
Dupont  become  a  Count  of  the  Empire,  and  a  senator,  all 
because  he  went  as  mayor  to  congratulate  the  Emperor  on  his 
entry  into  Vienna?  Oh,  this  marriage  must  take  place  !  For 
my  part,  I  adore  the  dear  young  man.  His  behavior  to 
Augustine  is  only  met  with  in  romances.  Be  easy,  little  one, 
you  shall  be  happy,  and  every  girl  will  wish  she  were  in  your 
place.  Madame  la  Duchesse  de  Carigliano,  who  comes  to  my 
*At  Homes/  raves  about  Monsieur  de  Sommervieux.  Some 
spiteful  people  say  she  only  comes  to  me  to  meet  him;  as  if 
a  duchess  of  yesterday  was  doing  too  much  honor  to  a  Chevrel, 
whose  family  have  been  respected  citizens  these  hundred 
years ! 

"Augustine,"  Madame  Roquin  went  on,  after  a  short  pause, 
"I  have  seen  the  portrait.  Heavens !  How  lovely  it  is !  Do 
you  know  that  the  Emperor  wanted  to  have  it?  He  laughed, 
and  said  to  the  Deputy  High  Constable  that  if  there  were 
many  women  like  that  at  his  court  while  all  the  kings  visited 
it,  he  should  have  no  difficulty  about  preserving  the  peace 
of  Europe.   Is  not  that  a  compliment?" 

The  tempests  with  which  the  day  had  begun  were  to  re- 
semble those  of  nature,  by  ending  in  clear  and  serene 
weather.  Madame  Roquin  displayed  so  much  address  in  her 
harangue,  she  was  able  to  touch  so  many  strings  in  the  dry 
hearts  of  Monsieur  and  Madame  Guillaume,  that  at  last  she  hit 
on  one  which  she  could  work  upon.  At  this  strange  period  com- 
merce and  finance  were  more  than  ever  possessed  by  the  crazy 
mania  for  seeking  alliance  with  rank;  and  the  generals  of 
the  Empire  took  full  advantage  of  this  desire.  Monsieur 
Guillaume,  as  a  singular  exception,  opposed  this  deplorable 
craving.   His  favorite  axioms  were  that,  to  secure  happiness, 


34 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  CAT  AND  RACKET 


a  woman  must  marry  a  man  of  her  own  class;  that  every 
one  was  punished  sooner  or  later  for  having  climbed  too 
high;  that  love  could  so  little  endure  under  the  worries  of 
a  household,  that  both  husband  and  wife  needed  sound  good 
qualities  to  be  happy;  that  it  would  not  do  for  one  to  be  far 
in  advance  of  the  other,  because,  above  everything,  they  must 
understand  each  other;  if  a  man  spoke  Greek  and  his  wife 
Latin,  they  might  come  to  die  of  hunger.  He  had  himself 
invented  this  sort  of  adage.  And  he  compared  such  marriages 
to  old-fashioned  materials  of  mixed  silk  and  wool,  in  which 
the  silk  always  at  last  wore  through  the  wool.  Still,  there 
is  so  much  vanity  at  the  bottom  of  man's  heart  that  the  pru- 
dence of  the  pilot  who  steered  the  Cat  and  Eacket  so  wisely 
gave  way  before  Madame  Eoquin's  aggressive  volubility. 
Austere  Madame  Guillaume  was  the  first  to  see  in  her 
daughter's  affection  a  reason  for  abdicating  her  principles 
and  for  consenting  to  receive  Monsieur  de  Sommervieux, 
whom  she  promised  herself  she  would  put  under  severe  inqui- 
sition. 

The  old  draper  went  to  look  for  Joseph  Lebas,  and  inform 
him  of  the  state  of  affairs.  At  half-past  six,  the  dining-room 
immortalized  by  the  artist  saw,  united  under  its  skylight, 
j^onsieur  and  Madame  Eoquin,  the  young  painter  and  his 
charming  Augustine,  Joseph  Lebas,  who  found  his  happiness 
in  patience,  and  Mademoiselle  Virginie,  convalescent  from 
her  headache.  Monsieur  and  Madame  Guillaume  saw  in  per- 
spective both  their  children  married,  and  the  fortunes  of  the 
Cat  and  Eacket  once  more  in  skilful  hands.  Their  satisfac- 
tion was  at  its  height  when,  at  dessert,  Theodore  made  them 
a  present  of  the  wonderful  picture  which  they  had  failed  to 
see,  representing  the  interior  of  the  old  shop,  and  to  which 
they  all  owed  so  much  happiness. 

"Isn't  it  pretty!"  cried  Guillaume.  "And  to  think  that 
any  one  would  pay  thirty  thousand  francs  for  that !" 

"Because  you  can  see  my  lappets  in  it,"  said  Madame 
Guillaume. 

"And  the  cloth  unrolled!"  added  Lebas;  "you  might  take 
it  up  in  your  hand." 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  CAT  AND  RACKET 


35 


^'Drapery  always  comes  out  well/'  replied  the  painter.  "We 
should  be  only  too  happy,  we  modern  artists,  if  we  could  touch 
the  perfection  of  antique  drapery." 

"So  you  like  drapery  V  cried  old  Guillaume.  ^^ell,  then, 
by  Gad !  shake  hands  on  that,  my  young  friend.  Since  you 
can  respect  trade,  we  shall  understand  each  other.  And  why 
should  it  be  despised?  The  world  began  with  trade,  since 
Adam  sold  Paradise  for  an  apple.  He  did  not  strike  a  good 
bargain  though!"  And  the  old  man  roared  with  honest 
laughter,  encouraged  by  the  champagne,  which  he  sent  round 
with  a  liberal  hand.  The  band  that  covered  the  young  artist's 
eyes  was  so  thick  that  he  thought  his  future  parents  amiable. 
He  was  not  above  enlivening  them  by  a  few  jests  in  the  best 
taste.  So  he  too  pleased  every  one.  In  the  evening,  when  the 
drawing-room,  furnished  with  what  Madame  Guillaume 
called  "everything  handsome,"  was  deserted,  and  while  she 
flitted  from  the  table  to  the  chimney-piece,  from  the  can- 
delabra to  the  tall  candlesticks,  hastily  blowing  out  the  wa^- 
lights,  the  worthy  draper,  who  was  always  clear-sighted  when 
money  was  in  question,  called  Augustine  to  him,  and  seating 
her  on  his  knee,  spoke  as  follows : — 

"My  dear  child,  you  shall  marry  your  Sommervieux  since 
you  insist;  you  may,  if  you  like,  risk  your  capital  in  happi- 
ness. But  I  am  not  going  to  be  hoodwinked  by  the  thirty 
thousand  francs  to  be  made  by  spoiling  good  canvas.  Money 
that  is  lightly  earned  is  lightly  spent.  Did  I  not  hear  that 
hare-brained  youngster  declare  this  evening  that  money  was 
made  round  that  it  might  roll.  If  it  is  round  for  spend- 
thrifts, it  is  flat  for  saving  folks  who  pile  it  up.  Now,  my 
child,  that  fine  gentleman  talks  of  giving  you  carriages  and 
diamonds  !  He  has  money,  let  him  spend  it  on  you ;  so  be  it. 
It  is  no  concern  of  mine.  But  as  to  what  I  can  give  you, 
.1  will  not  have  the  crown-pieces  I  have  picked  up  with  so 
much  toil  wasted  in  carriages  and  flippery.  Those  who  spend 
too  fast  never  grow  rich.  A  hundred  thousand  crowns,  which 
is  your  fortune,  will  not  buy  up  Paris.  It  is  all  very  well  to 
look  forward  to  a  few  hundred  thousand  francs  to  be  yours 


36  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  CAT  AND  RACKET 

some  da,y;  I  shall  keep  you  waiting  for  them  as  long  as  pos- 
sible, by  Gad !  So  I  took  your  lover  aside,  and  a  man  who 
managed  the  Lecoeq  bankruptcy  had  not  much  difficulty  in 
persuading  the  artist  to  marry  under  a  settlement  of  his  wife's 
money  on  herself.  I  will  keep  an  eye  on  the  marriage  contract 
to  see  that  what  he  is  to  settle  on  you  is  safely  tied  up.  So 
noWj,  my  child,  I  hope  to  be  a  grandfather,  by  Gad !  I  will 
begin  at  once  to  lay  up  for  my  grandchildren;  but  swear  to 
me,  here  and  now,  never  to  sign  any  papers  relating  to  money 
without  my  advice ;  and  if  I  go  soon  to  join  old  father  Chevrel, 
promise  to  consult  young  Lebas,  your  brother-in-law.'* 
"Yes,  father,  I  swear  it." 

At  these  words,  spoken  in  a  gentle  voice,  the  old  man  kissed 
his  daughter  on  both  cheeks.  That  night  the  lovers  slept  as 
soundly  as  Monsieur  and  Madame  Guillaume. 

Some  few  months  after  this  memorable  Sunday  the  high 
altar  of  Saint-Leu  was  the  scene  of  two  very  different  wed- 
dings. Augustine  and  Theodore  appeared  in  all  the  radiance 
of  happiness,  their  eyes  beaming  with  love,  dressed  with  ele- 
gance, while  a  fine  carriage  waited  for  them.  Virginie,  who 
had  come  in  a  good  hired  fly  with  the  rest  of  the  family, 
humbly  followed  her  younger  sister,  dressed  in  the  simplest 
fashion  like  a  shadow  necessary  to  the  harmony  of  the  pict- 
ure. Monsieur  Guillaume  had  exerted  himself  to  the  utmost 
in  the  church  to  get  Virginie  married  before  Augustine,  but 
the  priests,  high  and  low,  persisted  in  addressing  the  more 
elegant  of  the  tv/o  brides.  He  heard  some  of  his  neighbors 
highly  approving  the  good  sense  of  Mademoiselle  Virginie, 
who  was  making,  as  they  said,  the  more  substantial  match, 
and  remaining  faithful  to  the  neighborhood ;  while  they  fired 
a  few  taunts,  prompted  by  envy  of  Augustine,  who  was  marry- 
ing an  artist  and  a  man  of  rank;  adding,  with  a  sort  of  dis- 
may, that  if  the  Guillaumes  were  ambitious,  there  was  an  end 
to  the  business.  An  old  fan-maker  having  remarked  that  such 
a  prodigal  would  soon  bring  his  wife  to  beggary,  father  Guil- 
laume prided  himself  in  petto  for  his  prudence  in  the  matter 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  CAT  AND  RACKET  3V 

of  marriage  settlements.  In  tlie  evening,  after  a  splendid 
ball,  followed  by  one  of  those  substantial  suppers  of  which  the 
memory  is  dying  out  in  the  present  generation,  Monsieur 
and  Madame  Guillaume  remained  in  a  fine  house  belonging  to 
them  in  the  Rue  du  Colombier,  where  the  wedding  had  been 
held;  Monsieur  and  Madame  Lebas  returned  in  their  fly  to 
the  old  home  in  the  Eue  Saint-Denis,  to  steer  the  good  ship 
Cat  and  Racket.  The  artist,  intoxicated  with  happiness,  car- 
ried off  his  beloved  Augustine,  and  eagerly  lifting  her  out 
of  their  carriage  when  it  reached  the  Rue  des  Trois-Freres, 
led  her  to  an  apartment  embellished  by  all  the  arts. 

The  fever  of  passion  which  possessed  Theodore  made  a  yeai' 
fly  over  the  young  couple  without  a  single  cloud  to  dim  the 
blue  sky  under  which  they  lived.  Life  did  not  hang  heavy  on 
the  lovers'  hands.  Theodore  lavished  on  every  day  inexhaust- 
ible fioriture  of  enjoyment,  and  he  delighted  to  vary  the 
transports  of  passion  by  the  soft  languor  of  those  hours  of 
repose  when  souls  soar  so  high  that  they  seem  to  have  for- 
gotten all  bodily  union.  Augustine  was  too  happy  for  re- 
flection; she  floated  on  an  undulating  tide  of  rapture;  she 
thought  she  could  not  do  enough  by  abandoning  herself  to 
sanctioned  and  sacred  married  love;  simple  and  artless,  she 
had  no  coquetry,  no  reserves,  none  of  the  dominion  which 
a  worldly-minded  girl  acquires  over  her  husband  by  ingenious 
caprice;  she  loved  too  well  to  calculate  for  the  future,  and 
never  imagined  that  so  exquisite  a  life  could  come  to  an  end. 
Happy  in  being  her  husband's  sole  delight,  she  believed  that 
her  inextinguishable  love  would  always  be  her  greatest  grace 
in  his  eyes,  as  her  devotion  and  obedience  would  be  a  perennial 
charm.  And,  indeed,  the  ecstasy  of  love  had  made  her  so 
brilliantly  lovely  that  her  beauty  filled  her  with  pride,  and 
gave  her  confidence  that  she  could  always  reign  over  a  man 
so  easy  to  kindle  as  Monsieur  de  Sommervieux.  Thus  her 
position  as  a  wife  brought  her  no  knowledge  but  the  lessons 
of  love. 

In  the  midst  of  her  happiness,  she  was  still  the  simple 
child  who  had  lived  in  obscurity  in  the  Rue  Saint-Denis,  and 


38  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  CAT  AND  RACKET 

she  never  thought  of  acquiring  the  manners,  the  informa- 
tion, the  tone  of  the  world  she  had  to  live  in.  Her  words 
being  the  words  of  love,  she  revealed  in  them,  no  doubt,  a 
certain  pliancy  of  mind  and  a  certain  refinement  of  speech; 
but  she  used  the  language  common  to  all  women  when  they 
find  themselves  plunged  in  passion,  which  seems  to  be  their 
element.  When,  by  chance,  Augustine  expressed  an  idea  that 
did  not  harmonize  with  Theodore's,  the  young  artist  laughed, 
as  we  laugh  at  the  first  mistakes  of  a  foreigner,  though  they 
end  by  annoying  us  if  they  are  not  corrected. 

In  spite  of  all  this  love-making,  by  the  end  of  this  year,  as 
delightful  as  it  was  swift,  Sommervieux  felt  one  morning 
the  need  for  resuming  his  work  and  his  old  habits.  His  wife 
was  expecting  their  first  child.  He  saw  some  friends  again. 
During  the  tedious  discomforts  of  the  year  when  a  young 
wife  is  nursing  an  infant  for  the  first  time,  he  worked,  no 
doubt,  with  zeal,  but  he  occasionally  sought  diversion  in  the 
fashionable  world.  The  house  which  he  was  best  pleased  to 
frequent  was  that  of  the  Duchesse  de  Carigliano,  who  had 
at  last  attracted  the  celebrated  artist  to  her  parties.  When 
Augustine  was  quite  well  again,  and  her  boy  no  longer  re- 
quired the  assiduous  care  which  debars  a  mother  from  social 
pleasures,  Theodore  had  come  to  the  stage  of  wishing  to  know 
the  joys  of  satisfied  vanity  to  be  found  in  society  by  a  man 
who  shows  himself  with  a  handsome  woman,  the  object  of 
envy  and  admiration. 

To  figure  in  drawing-rooms  with  the  reflected  lustre  of 
her  husband's  fame,  and  to  find  other  women  envious  of  her, 
was  to  Augustine  a  new  harvest  of  pleasures;  but  it  was  the 
last  gleam  of  conjugal  happiness.  She  first  wounded  her 
husband's  vanity  when,  in  spite  of  vain  efforts,  she  betrayed 
her  ignorance,  the  inelegance  of  her  language,  and  the  nar- 
rowness of  her  ideas.  Sommervieux's  nature,  subjugated  for 
nearly  two  years  and  a  half  by  the  first  transports  of  love, 
now,  in  the  calm  of  less  new  possession,  recovered  its  bent 
and  habits,  for  a  while  diverted  from  their  channel.  Poetry, 
painting,  and  the  subtle  joys  of  imagination  have  inalienable 


AT  THE  SIGN  OB^  THE  CAT  AND  BACKET 


39 


rights  over  a  lofty  spirit.  These  cravings  of  a  powerful  soul 
had  not  been  starved  in  Theodore  during  these  two  years; 
they  had  only  found  fresh  pasture.  As  soon  as  the  meadows 
of  love  had  been  ransacked,  and  the  artist  had  gathered 
roses  and  cornflowers  as  the  children  do,  so  greedily  that  he 
did  not  see  that  his  hands  could  hold  no  more,  the  scene 
changed.  When  the  painter  showed  his  wife  the  sketches  for 
his  finest  compositions  he  heard  her  exclaim,  as  her  father 
had  done,  "How  pretty!"  This  tepid  admiration  was  not 
the  outcome  of  conscientious  feeling,  but  of  her  faith  on  the 
strength  of  love. 

Augustine  cared  more  for  a  look  than  for  the  finest  pict- 
ure. The  only  sublime  she  know  was  that  of  the  heart.  At 
last  Theodore  could  not  resist  the  evidence  of  the  cruel  fact — 
his  wife  was  insensible  to  poetry,  she  did  not  dwell  in  his 
sphere,  she  could  not  follow  him  in  all  his  vagaries,  his  in- 
ventions, his  joys  and  his  sorrows;  she  walked  groveling  in 
the  world  of  reality,  while  his  head  was  in  the  skies.  Com- 
mon minds  cannot  appreciate  the  perennial  sufferings  of  a 
being  who,  while  bound  to  another  by  the  most  intimate  af- 
fections, is  obliged  constantly  to  suppress  the  dearest  flights 
of  his  soul,  and  to  thrust  down  into  the  void  those  images 
which  a  magic  power  compels  him  to  create.  To  him  the  tor- 
ture is  all  the  more  intolerable  because  his  feeling  towards 
his  companion  enjoins,  as  its  first  law,  that  they  should  have 
no  concealments,  but  mingle  the  aspirations  of  their  thought 
as  perfectly  as  the  effusions  of  their  soul.  The  demands  of 
nature  are  not  to  be  cheated.  She  is  as  inexorable  as  necessity, 
which  is,  indeed,  a  sort  of  social  nature.  Sommervieux  took 
refuge  in  the  peace  and  silence  of  his  studio,  hoping  that  the 
habit  of  living  with  artists  might  mould  his  wife  and  develop 
in  her  the  dormant  germs  of  lofty  intelligence  which  some 
superior  minds  suppose  must  exist  in  every  being.  But 
Augustine  was  too  sincerely  religious  not  to  take  fright  at  the 
tone  of  artists.  At  the  first  dinner  Theodore  gave,  she  heard 
a  young  painter  say,  with  the  childlike  lightness,  which  to 
her  was  unintelligible,  and  which  redeems  a  jest  from  the  taini- 


40  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  CAT  AND  RACKET 

of  profanity,  "But,  madame,  your  Paradise  cannot  be  more 
beautiful  than  EaphaeFs  Transfiguration! — Well,  and  I  got 
tired  of  looking  at  that." 

Thus  Augustine  came  among  this  sparkling  set  in  a  spirit 
of  distrust  which  no  one  could  fail  to  see.  She  was  a  restraint 
on  their  freedom.  Now  an  artist  who  feels  restraint  is  piti- 
less ;  he  stays  away,  or  laughs  it  to  scorn.  Madame  Guillaume, 
among  other  absurdities,  had  an  excessive  notion  of  the  dignity 
she  considered  the  prerogative  of  a  married  woman;  and  Au- 
gustine, though  she  had  often  made  fun  of  it,  could  not  help 
a  slight  imitation  of  her  mother's  primness.  This  extreme 
propriety,  which  virtuous  wives  do  not  always  avoid,  suggested 
a  few  epigrams  in  the  form  of  sketches,  in  which  the  harm- 
less jest  was  in  such  good  taste  that  Sommervieux  could  not 
take  offence;  and  even  if  they  had  been  more  severe,  these 
pleasantries  were  after  all  only  reprisals  from  his  friends. 
Still,  nothing  could  seem  a  trifle  to  a  spirit  so  open  as 
Theodore's  to  impressions  from  without.  A  coldness  insen- 
sibly crept  over  him,  and  inevitably  spread.  To  attain  con- 
jugal happiness  we  must  climb  a  hill  whose  summit  is  a  nar- 
row ridge,  close  to  a  steep  and  slippery  descent :  the  painter's 
love  was  falling  down  it.  He  regarded  his  wife  as  incapable 
of  appreciating  the  moral  considerations  which  justified  him 
in  his  own  eyes  for  his  singular  behavior  to  her,  and  believed 
himself  quite  innocent  in  hiding  from  her  thoughts  she  could 
not  enter  into,  and  peccadilloes  outside  the  jurisdiction  of  a 
bourgeois  conscience.  Augustine  wrapped  herself  in  sullen 
and  silent  grief.  These  unconfessed  feelings  placed  a  shroud 
between  the  husband  and  wife  which  could  not  fail  to  grow 
thicker  day  by  day.  Though  her  husband  never  failed  in 
consideration  for  her,  Augustine  could  not  help  trembling  as 
she  saw  that  he  kept  for  the  outer  world  those  treasures  of 
wit  and  grace  that  he  formerly  would  lay  at  her  feet.  She 
soon  began  to  find  a  sinister  meaning  in  the  jocular  speeches 
that  are  current  in  the  world  as  to  the  inconstancy  of  men. 
She  made  no  complaints,  but  her  demeanor  conveyed  re- 
proach. 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  CAT  AND  RACKET  41 

Three  years  after  her  marriage  this  pretty  young  woman, 
who  dashed  past  in  her  handsome  carriage,  and  lived  in  a 
sphere  of  glory  and  riches  to  the  envy  of  heedless  folk  inca- 
pable of  taking  a  just  view  of  the  situations  of  life,  was  a 
prey  to  intense  grief.  She  lost  her  color;  she  reflected;  she 
made  comparisons ;  then  sorrow  unfolded  to  her  the  first  les- 
sons of  experience.  She  determined  to  restrict  herself  bravely 
within  the  round  of  duty,  hoping  that  by  this  generous  con- 
duct she  might  sooner  or  later  win  back  her  husband's  love. 
But  it  was  not  so.  When  Sommervieux,  tired  with  work, 
came  in  from  his  studio,  Augustine  did  not  put  away  her  work 
so  quickly  but  that  the  painter  might  find  his  wife  mending 
the  household  linen,  and  his  own,  with  all  the  care  of  a  good 
housewife.  She  supplied  generously  and  without  a  murmur 
the  money  needed  for  his  lavishness;  but  in  her  anxiety  to 
husband  her  dear  Theodore's  fortune,  she  was  strictly  eco- 
jnomical  for  herself  and  in  certain  details  of  domestic  man- 
agement. Such  conduct  is  incompatible  with  the  easy-going 
habits  of  artists,  who,  at  the  end  of  their  life,  have  enjoyed 
;it  so  keenly  that  they  never  inquire  into  the  causes  of  their 
ruin. 

It  is  useless  to  note  every  tint  of  shadow  by  which  the 
brilliant  hues  of  their  honeymoon  were  overcast  till  they 
were  lost  in  utter  blackness.  One  evening  poor  Augustine, 
who  had  for  some  time  heard  her  husband  speak  with  enthu- 
siasm of  the  Duchesse  de  Carigliano,  received  from  a  friend 
certain  malignantly  charitable  warnings  as  to  the  nature  of 
the  attachment  which  Sommervieux  had  formed  for  this  cele- 
brated flirt  of  the  Imperial  Court.  At  one-and-twenty,  in  all 
the  splendor  of  youth  and  beauty,  Augustine  saw  herself  de- 
serted for  a  woman  of  six-and-thirty.  Feeling  herself  so 
wretched  in  the  midst  of  a  world  of  festivity  which  to  her  was 
a  blank,  the  poor  little  thing  could  no  longer  understand  the 
admiration  she  excited,  or  the  envy  of  which  she  was  the 
object.  Her  face  assumed  a  different  expression.  Melan- 
choly tinged  her  features  with  the  sweetness  of  resignation 
and  the  pallor  of  scorned  love.    Ere  long  she  too  was  courted 


42 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  CAT  AND  IlACIvET 


by  the  most  fascinating  men;  but  she  remained  lonely  an(i 
virtuous.  Some  contemptuous  words  whigh  escaped  her  hus- 
band filled  her  with  incredible  despair.  A  sinister  flash 
showed  her  the  breaches  which,  as  a  result  of  her  sordid  edu- 
cation, hindered  the  perfect  union  of  her  soul  with  Theo- 
dore's; she  loved  him  well  enough  to  absolve  him  and  con- 
demn herself.  She  shed  tears  of  blood,  and  perceived,  too 
late,  that  there  are  mesalliances  of  the  spirit  as  well  as  of 
rank  and  habits.  As  she  recalled  the  early  raptures  of  their 
union,  she  understood  the  full  extent  of  that  lost  happiness, 
and  accepted  the  conclusion  that  so  rich  a  harvest  of  love 
was  in  itself  a  whole  life,  which  only  sorrow  could  pay  for. 
At  the  same  time,  she  loved  too  truly  to  lose  all  hope.  At 
one-and-twenty  she  dared  undertake  to  educate  herself,  and 
make  her  imagination,  at  least,  worthy  of  that  she  admired. 
"If  I  am  not  a  poet,"  thought  she,  "at  any  rate,  I  will  under- 
stand poetry." 

Then,  with  all  the  strength  of  will,  all  the  energy  which 
every  woman  can  display  when*  she  loves,  Madame  de  Som- 
mervieux  tried  to  alter  her  character,  her  manners,  and  hei' 
habits;  but  by  dint  of  devouring  books  and  learning  un- 
dauntedly, she  only  succeeded  in  becoming  less  ignorant. 
Lightness  of  wit  and  the  graces  of  conversation  are  a  gift 
of  nature,  or  the  fruit  of  education  begun  in  the  cradle.  She 
could  appreciate  music  and  enjoy  it,  but  she  could  not  sing 
with  taste.  She  understood  literature  and  the  beauties  of 
poetry,  but  it  was  too  late  to  cultivate  her  refractoiy  memory. 
She  listened  with  pleasure  to  social  conversation,  but  she 
could  contribute  nothing  brilliant.  Her  religious  notions  and 
home-grown  prejudices  were  antagonistic  to  the  complete 
emancipation  of  her  intelligence.  Finally,  a  foregone  conclu- 
sion against  her  had  stolen  into  Theodore's  mind,  and  this 
she  could  not  conquer.  The  artist  would  laugh  at  those  who 
flattered  him  about  his  wife,  and  his  irony  had  some  founda- 
tion; he  so  overawed  the  pathetic  young  creature  that,  in 
his  presence,  or  alone  with  him,  she  trembled.  Hampered 
by  her  too  eager  desire  to  please,  her  wits  and  her  knowledge 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  CAT  AND  RACKET  43 

vanished  in  one  absorbing  feeling.  Even  her  fidelity  vexed 
the  unfaithful  husband,  who  seemed  to  bid  her  do  wrong 
by  stigmatizing  her  virtue  as  insensibility.  Augustine  tried 
in  vain  to  abdicate  her  reason,  to  yield  to  her  husband's 
caprices  and  whims,  to  devote  herself  to  the  selfishness  of  his 
vanity.  Her  sacrifices  bore  no  fruil  Perhaps  they  had  both 
let  the  moment  slip  when  souls  may  meet  in  comprehension. 
One  day  the  young  wife's  too  sensitive  heart  received  one 
of  those  blows  which  so  strain  the  bonds  of  feeling  that  they  \ 
seem  to  be  broken.  She  withdrew  into  solitude.  But  before 
long  a  fatal  idea  suggested  to  her  to  seek  counsel  and  comfort 
in  the  bosom  of  her  family. 

So  one  morning  she  made  her  way  towards  the  grotesque 
fagade  of  the  humble,  silent  home  where  she  had  spent  her 
childhood.  She  sighed  as  she  looked  up  at  the  sash-window, 
whence  one  day  she  had  sent  her  first  kiss  to  him  who  now 
shed  as  much  sorrow  as  glory  on  her  life.  Nothing  was 
changed  in  the  cavern,  where  the  drapery  business  had,  how- 
ever, started  on  a  new  life.  Augustine's  sister  filled  her 
mother's  old  place  at  the  desk.  The  unhappy  young  woman 
met  her  brother-in-law  with  his  pen  behind  his  ear ;  he  hardly 
listened  to  her,  he  was  so  full  of  business.  The  formidable 
symptoms  of  stock-taking  were  visible  all  round  him;  he 
begged  her  to  excuse  him.  She  was  received  coldly  enough 
by  her  sister,  who  owed  her  a  grudge.  In  fact,  Augustine, 
in  her  finery,  and  stepping  out  of  a  handsome  carriage,  had 
never  been  to  see  her  but  when  passing  by.  The  wife  of  the 
prudent  Lebas,  imagining  that  want  of  money  was  the  prime 
cause  of  this  early  call,  tried  to  keep  up  a  tone  of  reserve 
which  more  than  once  made  Augustine  smile.  The  painter's 
wife  perceived  that,  apart  from  the  cap  and  lappets,  her 
mother  had  found  in  Virginie  a  successor  who  could  uphold 
the  ancient  honor  of  the  Cat  and  Eacket.  At  breakfast  she 
observed  certain  changes  in  the  management  of  the  house 
which  did  honor  to  Lebas'  good  sense ;  the  assistants  did  not 
rise  before  dessert;  they  were  allowed  to  talk,  and  the  abun- 
dant meal  spoke  of  ease  without  luxury.    The  fashionable 


44 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  CAT  AND  RACKBTT 


woman  found  some  tickets  for  a  box  at  the  Francais,  where 
she  remembered  having  seen  her  sister  from  time  to  time. 
Madame  Lebas  had  a  cashmere  shawL  over  her  shonlderSj 
of  which  the  value  bore  witness  to  her  husband's  generosity 
to  her.  In  short,  the  couple  were  keeping  pace  with  the 
times.  During  the  two-thirds  of  the  day  she  spent  there, 
Augustine  was  touched  to  the  heart  by  the  equable  happiness, 
devoid,  to  be  sure,  of  all  emotion,  but  equally  free  from 
storms,  enjoyed  by  this  well-matched  couple.  They  had  ac- 
cepted life  as  a  commercial  enterprise,  in  which,  above  all, 
they  must  do  credit  to  the  business.  Not  finding  any  great 
love  in  her  husband,  Virginie  had  set  to  work  to  create  it. 
Having  by  degrees  learned  to  esteem  and  care  for  his  wife, 
the  time  that  his  happiness  had  taken  to  germinate  was  to 
Joseph  Lebas  a  guarantee  of  its  durability.  Hence,  when 
Augustine  plaintively  set  forth  her  painful  position,  she  had 
to  face  the  deluge  of  commonplace  morality  which  the  tradi- 
tions of  the  Rue  Saint-Denis  furnished  to  her  sister. 

"The  mischief  is  done,  wife,"  said  Joseph  Lebas ;  "we  must 
try  to  give  our  sister  good  advice."  Then  the  clever  trades- 
man ponderously  analyzed  the  resources  which  law  and  custom 
might  offer  Augustine  as  a  means  of  escape  at  this  crisis; 
he  ticketed  every  argument,  so  to  speak,  and  arranged  them 
in  their  degrees  of  weight  under  various  categories,  as  though 
they  were  articles  of  merchandise  of  different  qualities;  then 
he  put  them  in  the  scale,  weighed  them,  and  ended  by  showing 
the  necessity  for  his  sister-in-law's  taking  violent  steps  which 
could  not  satisfy  the  love  she  still  had  for  her  husband;  and, 
indeed,  the  feeling  had  revived  in  all  its  strength  when  she 
heard  Joseph  Lebas  speak  of  legal  proceedings.  Augustine 
thanked  them,  and  returned  home  even  more  undecided  than 
she  had  been  before  consulting  them.  She  now  ventured 
to  go  to  the  house  in  the  Rue  du  Colombier,  intending  to 
confide  her  troubles  to  her  father  and  mother;  for  she  was 
like  a  sick  man  who,  in  his  desperate  plight,  tries  every  pre- 
scription, and  even  puts  faith  in  old  wives'  remedies. 

The  old  people  received  their  daughter  with  an  effusiveness 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  CAT  AND  RACKET  48 

thai  touched  her  deeply.  Her  visit  brought  them  some  little 
change,  and  that  to  them  was  worth  a  fortune.  For  the  last 
four  years  they  had  gone  their  way  in  life  like  navigators 
without  a  goal  or  a  compass.  Sitting  by  the  chimney  corner, 
they  would  talk  over  their  disasters  under  the  old  law  of 
maximum,  of  their  great  investments  in  cloth,  of  the  way 
they  had  weathered  bankruptcies,  and,  above  all,  the  famous 
failure  of  Lecoc^,  Monsieur  Guillaume's  battle  of  Marengo.' 
Then,  when  they  had  exhausted  the  tale  of  lawsuits,  they 
recapitulated  the  sums  total  of  their  most  profitable  stock- 
takings, and  told  each  other  old  stories  of  the  Saint-Denis 
quarter.  At  two  o'clock  old  Guillaume  went  to  cast  an  eye  on 
the  business  at  the  Cat  and  Racket ;  on  his  way  back  he  called 
at  all  the  shops,  formerly  the  rivals  of  his  own,  where  the 
young  proprietors  hoped  to  inveigle  the  old  draper  into  some 
risky  discount,  which,  as  was  his  wont,  he  never  refused 
point-blank.  Two  good  Normandy  horses  were  dying  of  their 
own  fat  in  the  stables  of  the  big  house;  Madame  Guillaume 
never  used  them  but  to  drag  her  on  Sundays  ta  high,  mass  at 
the  parish  church.  Three  times  a  week  the  worthy  couple  kept 
open  house.  By  the  influence  of  his  son-in-law  Sommervieux, 
Monsieur  Guillaume  had  been  named  a  member  of  the  con- 
sulting board  for  the  clothing  of  the  Army.  Since  her  hus- 
band had  stood  so  high  in  office,  Madame  Guillaume  had 
decided  that  she  must  receive;  her  rooms  were  so  crammed 
with  gold  and  silver  ornaments,  and  furniture,  tasteless  but 
of  undoubted  value,  that  the  simplest  room  in  the  house 
looked  like  a  chapel.  Economy  and  expense  seemed  to  be 
struggling  for  the  upper  hand  in  every  accessory.  It  was  as 
though  Monsieur  Guillaume  had  looked  to  a  good  investment, 
even  in  the  purchase  of  a  candlestick.  In  the  midst  of  this 
bazaar,  where  splendor  revealed  the  owner's  v/ant  of  occu- 
pation, Sommervieux's  famous  picture  filled  the  place  of 
honor,  and  in  it  Monsieur  and  Madame  Guillaume  found 
their  chief  consolation,  turning  their  eyes,  harnessed  with 
eye-glasses,  twenty  times  a  day  on  this  presentment  of  their 
past  life,  to  them  so  active  and  amusing.    The  appearance 


46 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  CAT  AND  RACKET 


of  this  mansion  and  these  rooms,  where  everything  had  an 
aroma  of  staleness  and  mediocrity,  the  spectacle  offered  by 
these  two  beings,  cast  away,  as  it  were,  on  a  rock  far  from 
the  world  and  the  ideas  which  are  life,  startled  Augustine; 
she  could  here  contemplate  the  sequel  of  the  scene  of  which 
the  first  part  had  struck  her  at  the  house  of  Lebas — a  life  of 
stir  without  movement,  a  mechanical  and  instinctive  exist- 
ence like  that  of  the  beaver;  and  then  she  felt  an  indefinable 
pride  in  her  troubles,  as  she  reflected  that  they  had  their 
source  in  eighteen  months  of  such  happiness  as,  in  her  eyes, 
was  worth  a  thousand  lives  like  this;  its  vacuity  seemed  to 
her  horrible.  However,  she  concealed  this  not  very  charitable 
feeling,  and  displayed  for  her  parents  her  newly-acquired  ac- 
complishments of  mind,  and  the  ingratiating  tenderness  that 
love  had  revealed  to  her,  disposing  them  to  listen  to  her  mat- 
rimonial grievances.  Old  people  have  a  weakness  for  this 
kind  of  confidences.  Madame  Guillaume  wanted  to  know 
the  most  trivial  details  of  that  alien  life,  which  to  her  seemed 
almost  fabulous.  The  travels  of  Baron  de  la  Hontan,  which 
she  began  again  and  again  and  never  finished,  told  her  noth- 
ing more  unheard-of  concerning  the  Canadian  savages. 

"What,  child,  your  husband  shuts  himself  into  a  room  with 
naked  women !  And  you  are  so  simple  as  to  believe  that  he 
draws  them?" 

As  she  uttered  this  exclamation,  the  grandmother  laid  her 
spectacles  on  a,  little  work-table,  shook  her  skirts,  and  clasped 
her  hands  on  her  knees,  raised  by  a  foot-warmer,  her  favorite 
pedestal. 

"But,  mother,  all  artists  are  obliged  to  have  models." 

"He  took  good  care  not  to  tell  us  that  when  he  asked  leave 
to  marry  you.  If  I  had  known  it,  I  would  never  have  given 
my  daughter  to  a  man  who  followed  such  a  trade.  Eeligion 
forbids  such  horrors;  they  are  immoral.  And  at  what  time 
of  night  do  you  say  he  comes  home  ?" 

"At  one  o'clock — two  " 

The  old  folks  looked  at  each  other  in  utter  amazement. 
"Then  he  gambles?"  snid  Monsieur  Guillaume.    "In  my 
day  only  gamblers  stayed  out  so  late." 


AT  THE  SIGN^OF  THE  CAT  AND  RACKET 


47 


Augustine  made  a  face  that  scorned  the  accusation. 

"He  must  keep  you  up  through  dreadful  nights  waiting 
for  him/'  said  Madame  Guillaume.  "But  you  go  to  bed,  don't 
you  ?   And  when  he  has  lost,  the  wretch  wakes  you." 

"No,  mamma,  on  the  contrary,  he  is  sometimes  in  very- 
good  spirits.  Not  unfrequently,  indeed,  when  it  is  fine,  he 
suggests  that  I  should  get  up  and  go  into  the  woods." 

"The  woods  !  At  that  hour  ?  Then  have  you  such  a  small 
set  of  rooms  that  his  bedroom  and  his  sitting-rooms  are  not 
enough,  and  that  he  must  run  about  ?  But  it  is  just  to  give 
you  cold  that  the  wretch  proposes  such  expeditions.  He  wants 
to  get  rid  of  you.  Did  one  ever  hear  of  a  man  settled  in  life, 
a  well-behaved,  quiet  man  galloping  about  like  a  warlock?" 

"But,  my  dear  mother,  you  do  not  understand  that  he  must 
have  excitement  to  fire  his  genius.  He  is  fond  of  scenes 
which  " 

"I  would  makes  scenes  for  him,  fine  scenes !"  cried  Mad- 
ame Guillaume,  interrupting  her  daughter.  "How  can  you 
show  any  consideration  to  such  a  man?  In  the  first  place, 
I  don't  like  his  drinking  water  only;  it  is  not  wholesome. 
Why  does  he  object  to  see  a  woman  eating?  What  queer 
notion  is  that !  But  he  is  mad.  All  you  tell  us  about  him 
is  impossible.  A  man  cannot  leave  his  home  without  a  word, 
and  never  come  back  for  ten  days.  And  then  he  tells  you 
he  has  been  to  Dieppe  to  paint  the  sea.  As  if  any  one  painted 
the  sea!  He  crams  you  with  a  pack  of  tales  that  are  too 
absurd." 

Augustine  opened  her  lips  to  defend  her  husband;  but 
Madame  Guillaume  enjoined  silence  with  a  wave  of  her  hand, 
which  she  obeyed  by  a  survival  of  habit,  and  her  mother  went 
on  in  harsh  tones :  "Don't  talk  to  me  about  the  man !  He 
never  set  foot  in  a  church  excepting  to  see  you  and  to  be  mar- 
ried. People  without  religion  are  capable  of  anything.  Did 
Guillaume  ever  dream  of  hiding  anything  from  me,  of  speud- 
ing  three  days  without  saying  a  word  to  me,  and  of  chatter- 
ing  afterwards  like  a  blind  magpie?" 

"My  dear  mother,  you  judge  superior  people  too  severely. 


48  AT  THE  S1G:^  of  the  cat  and  JftACKEJT 

If  their  ideas  were  the  same  as  other  folks',  they  would  not 
be  men  of  genius/' 

"Very  well,  then  let  men  of  genius  stop  at  home  and  not 
get  married.  What !  A  man  of  genius  is  to  make  his  wife 
miserable?  And  because  he  is  a  genius  it  is  all  right! 
Genius,  genius !  It  is  not  so  very  clever  to  say  black  one 
minute  and  white  the  next,  as  he  does,  to  interrupt  other 
people,  to  dance  such  rigs  at  home,  never  to  let  you  know 
which  foot  you  are  to  stand  on,  to  compel  his  wife  never  to 
be  amused  unless  my  lord  is  in  gay  spirits,  and  to  be.  dull 
when  he  is  dull." 

"But,  mother,  the  very  nature  of  such  imaginations  '' 

"What  are  such  ^imaginations'  ?"  Madame  Guillaume  went 
on,  interrupting  her  daughter  again,  "Fine  ones  his  are, 
my  word  !  What  possesses  a  man  that  all  on  a  sudden,  without 
consulting  a  doctor,  he  takes  it  into  his  head  to  eat  nothing 
but  vegetables?  If  indeed  it  were  from  religious  motives, 
it  might  do  him  some  good — but  he  has  no  more  religion  than 
a  Huguenot.  Was  there  .ever  a  man  known  who,  like  him,  loved 
Iiorses  better  than  his  fellow-creatures,  had  his  hair  curled 
like  a  heathen,  laid  statues  under  muslin  coverlets,  shut  his 
shutters  in  broad  day  to  work  by  lamp-light?  There,  get 
along;  if  he  were  not  so  grossly  immoral,  he  would  be  fit  to 
shut  up  in  a  lunatic  asylum.  Consult  Monsieur  Loraux,  the 
priest  at  Saint  Sulpice,  ask  his  opinion  about  it  all,  and  he 
will  tell  you  that  your  husbaoid  does  not  behave  like  a  Chris- 
tian." 

"Oh,  mother,  can  you  believe  ?" 

"Yes,  I  do  believe.  You  loved  him,  and  yon  can  see  none 
of  these  things.  But  I  can  remember  in  the  early  days  after 
your  marriage,  I  met  him  in  the  Champs-Elysees.  He  wns 
on  horseback.  Well,  at  one  minute  he  was  galloping  as  hard 
'as  he  could  tear,  and  then  pulled  up  to  a  walk.  I  said  to 
myself  at  that  moment,  '^There  is  a  man  devoid  of  judgment.' '' 

"Ah,  ha!"  cried  Monsieur  Guillaume,  '%ow  wise  I  was  to 
have  your  money  settled  on  yourself  with  such  a  queer  fellow 
loT  a  husband!" 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  TUK  OAT  AND  RACKET  49 

When  Augustine  was  so  imprudent  as  to  set  forth  her  seri- 
ous grievances  against  her  husband,  the  two  old  people  were 
speechless  with  indignation.  But  the  word  ^^divorce"  was 
ere  long  spoken  by  Madame  Guillaume.  At  the  sound  of  the 
word  divorce  the  apathetic  old  draper  seemed  to  wake  up. 
Prompted  by  his  love  for  his  daughter,  and  also  by  the  ex- 
citement which  the  proceedings  would  bring  into  his  unevent- 
ful life,  father  Guillaume  took  up  the  matter.  He  made  him- 
self the  leader  of  the  application  for  a  divorce,  laid  down  the 
lines  of  it,  almost  argued  the  case ;  he  offered  to  be  at  all  the 
charges,  to  see  the  lawyers,  the  pleaders,  the  Judges,  to  move 
heaven  and  earth.  Madame  de  Sommervieux  was  frightened, 
she  refused  her  father^s  services,  said  she  would  not  be  sepa- 
rated from  her  husband  even  if  she  were  ten  times  as  mi- 
Chappy,  and  talked  no  more  about  her  sorrows.  After  being 
overwhelmed  by  her  parents  with  all  the  little  wordless  and 
eonsoling  kindnesses  by  which  the  old  couple  tried  in  vain 
to  make  up  to  her  for  her  distress  of  heart,  Augustine  went 
,away,  feeling  the  impossibility  of  making  a  superior  mind 
i'.ntelligible  to  weak  intellects.  She  had  learned  that  a  wife 
must  hide  from  every  one,  even  from  her  parents,  woes  for 
which  it  is  so  difficult  to  find  sympathy.  The  storms  and 
.sufferings  of  the  upper  spheres  are  appreciated  only  by  the 
lofty  spirits  who  inhabit  there.  In  every  circumstance  we 
can  only  be  judged  by  our  equals. 

Thus  poor  Augustine  found  herself  thrown  back  on  the 
horror  of  her  meditations,  in  the  cold  atmosphere  of  her 
home.  Study  was  indiiferent  to  her,  since  study  had  not 
brought  her  back  her  husband's  heart.  Initiated  into  the 
secret  of  these  souls  of  fire,  but  bereft  of  their  resources,  she 
was  compelled  to  share  their  sorrows  without  sharing  their 
pleasures.  She  was  disgusted  with  the  world,  which  to  her 
seemed  mean  and  small  as  compared  with  the  incidents  of 
passion.   In  short,  her  life  was  a  failure. 

One  evening  an  idea  flashed  upon  her  that  lighted  up  her 
dark  grief  like  a  beam  from  heaven.  Such  an  idea  could 
never  have  smiled  on  a  heart  less  pure,  less  virtuous  than 


^50  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  GAT  AND  RACKET 

laers.  She  determined  to  go  to  the  Duchesse  de  Carigliano, 
not  to  ask  her  to  give  her  back  her  husband's  heart,  but  to 
learn  the  arts  by  which  it  had  been  captured;  to  engage  the 
interest  of  this  haughty  fine  lady  for  the  mother  of  her  lover's 
children ;  to  appeal  to  her  and  make  her  the  instrument  of  her 
future  happiness,  since  she  was  the  cause  of  her  present 
^vretchedness. 

So  one  day  Augustine,  timid  as  she  was,  but  armed  with 
supernatural  courage,  got  into  her  carriage  at  two  in  the  after- 
noon to  try  for  admittance  to  the  boudoir  of  the  famous 
coquette,  who  was  never  visible  till  that  hour.  Madame  de 
Sommervieux  had  not  yet  seen  any  of  the  ancient  and  mag- 
nificent mansions  of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain.  As  she 
made  her  way  through  the  stately  corridors,  the  handsome 
staircases,  the  vast  drawing-rooms — full  of  flowers,  though 
it  was  in  the  depth  of  winter,  and  decorated  with  the  taste 
peculiar  to  women  born  to  opulence  or  to  the  elegant  habits 
of  the  aristocracy,  Augustine  felt  a  terrible  clutch  at  her 
heart ;  she  coveted  the  secrets  of  an  elegance  of  which  she  had 
never  had  an  idea;  she  breathed  an  air  of  grandeur  which 
explained  the  attraction  of  the  house  for  her  husband.  When 
she  reached  the  private  rooms  of  the  Duchess  she  was  filled 
with  jealousy  and  a  sort  of  despair,  as  she  admired  the  luxu- 
rious arrangement  of  the  furniture,  the  draperies  and  the 
hangings.  Here  disorder  was  a  grace,  here  luxury  affected 
a  certain  contempt  of  splendor.  The  fragrance  that  floated 
in  the  warm  air  flattered  the  sense  of  smell  without  offending 
it.  The  accessories  of  the  rooms  were  in  harmony  with  a  view, 
through  plate-glass  windows,  of  the  lawns  in  a  garden  planted 
with  evergreen  trees.  It  was  all  bewitching,  and  the  art  of 
it  was  not  perceptible.  The  whole  spirit  of  the  mistress  of 
these  rooms  pervaded  the  drawing-room  where  Augustine 
awaited  her.  She  tried  to  divine  her  rival's  character  from 
the  aspect  of  the  scattered  objects;  but  there  was  here  some- 
thing as  impenetrable  in  the  disorder  as  in  the  symmetry, 
and  to  the  simple-minded  young  wife  all  was  a  sealed  letter. 
All  that  she  could  discern  was  that,  as  a  woman,  the  Duchess 
wae  a  superior  person.  Then  a  painful  thought  came  over  her. 


AT  THE  SIGN  OP  THE  CAT  AND  RACKET 


51 


"Alas !  And  is  it  true,"  she  wondered,  "that  a  simple  and 
[oving  heart  is  not  all-sufficient  to  an  artist;  that  to  balance 
the  weight  of  these  powerful  souls  they  need  a  union  with 
feminine  souls  of  a  strength  equal  to  their  own?  If  I  had 
been  brought  up  like  this  siren,  our  weapons  at  least  might 
have  been  equal  in  the  hour  of  struggle." 

"But  I  am  not  at  home !"  The  sharp,  harsh  words,  though 
spoken  in  an  undertone  in  the  adjoining  boudoir,  were  heard 
by  Augustine,  and  her  heart  beat  violently. 

"The  lady  is  in  there,"  replied  the  maid. 

"You  are  an  idiot!  Show  her  in,"  replied  the  Duchess, 
whose  voice  was  sweeter,  and  had  assumed  the  dulcet  tones 
of  politeness.    She  evidently  now  meant  to  be  heard. 

Augustine  shyly  entered  the  room.  At  the  end  of  the 
dainty  boudoir  she  saw  the  Duchess  lounging  luxuriously  on 
an  ottoman  covered  with  brown  velvet  and  placed  in  the 
(Centre  of  a  sort  of  apse  outlined  by  soft  folds  of  white  muslin 
,)ver  a  yellow  lining.  Ornaments  of  gilt  bronze,  arranged 
with  exquisite  taste,  enhanced  this  sori  of  dais,  under  which 
the  Duchess  reclined  like  a  Greek  statue.  The  dark  hue 
of  the  velvet  gave  relief  to  every  fascinating  charm.  A  sub- 
dued light,  friendly  to  her  beauty,  fell  like  a  reflection  rather 
than  a  direct  illumination.  A  few  rare  flowers  raised  their 
perfumed  heads  from  costly  Sevres  vases.  At  the  moment 
when  this  picture  was  presented  to  Augustine's  astonished 
eyes,  she  was  approaching  so  noiselessly  that  she  caught  a 
glance  from  those  of  the  enchantress.  This  look  seemed  to  say 
to  some  one  whom  Augustine  did  not  at  flrst  perceive,  "Stay ; 
you  will  see  a-  pretty  woman,  and  make  her  visit  less  of  a 
bore." 

On  seeing  Augustine,  the  Duchess  rose  and  made  her  sit 
down  by  her, 

"And  to  what  do  I  owe  the  pleasure  of  this  visit,  madame  ?" 
she  said  with  a  most  gracious  smile. 

"Why  all  this  falseness  ?"  thought  Augustine,  replying  only 
with  a  bow. 

Her  silence  was  compulsory.  The  young  woman  saw  before 


52 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  CAT  AND  llACKET 


her  a  superfluous  witness  of  the  scene.  This  personage  waS;, 
of  all  the  Colonels  in  the  army^  the  youngest,  the  most  fash- 
ionahle,  and  the  finest  man.  His  face,  full  of  life  and  youth, 
but  already  expressive,  was  further  enhanced  by  a  small  mous- 
tache twirled  up  into  points,  and  as  black  as  jet,  by  a  full 
imperial,  by  whiskers  carefully  combed,  and  a  forest  of  black 
hair  in  some  disorder.  He  was  whisking  a  riding  whip  with 
an  air  of  ease  and  freedom  which  suited  his  self-satisfied  ex- 
pression and  the  elegance  of  his  dress;  the  ribbons  attached 
to  his  button-hole  were  carelessly  tied,  and  he  seemed  to 
pride  himself  much  more  on  his  smart  appearance  than  on 
his  courage.  Augustine  looked  at  the  Duchesse  de  Carigliano, 
and  indicated  the  Colonel  by  a  sidelong  glance.  All  its  mute 
appeal  was  understood. 

"Good-bye,  then,  Monsieur  d'Aiglemont,  we  shall  meet  in 
the  Bois  de  Boulogne." 

These  words  were  spoken  by  the  siren  as  though  they  were 
the  result  of  an  agreement  made  before  Augustine's  arriva], 
and  she  winged  them  with  a  threatening  look  that  the  officer 
deserved  perhaps  for  the  admiration  he  showed  in  gazing  at 
the  modest  flower,  which  contrasted  so  well  with  the  haughty 
Duchess.  The  young  fop  bowed  in  silence,  turned  on  the 
heels  of  his  boots,  and  gracefully  quitted  the  boudoir.  At 
this  instant,  Augustine,  watching  her  rival,  whose  eyes  seemed 
to  follow  the  brilliant  officer,  detected  in  that  glance  a  senti- 
ment of  which  the  transient  expression  is  known  to  every 
woman.  She  perceived  v/ith  the  deepest  anguish  that  her 
visit  would  be  useless;  this  lady,  full  of  artifice,  was  too 
greedy  of  homage  not  to  have  a  ruthless  heart. 

"Madame,"  said  Augustine  in  a  broken  voice,  "the  step  I 
am  about  to  take  will  seem  to  you  very  strange;  but  there 
is  a  madness  of  despair  which  ought  to  excuse  an3d;hing.  I 
understand  only  too  well  why  Theodore  prefers  your  house 
to  any  other,  and  why  your  mind  has  so  much  power  over 
his.  Alas!  I  have  only  to  look  into  myself  to  find  more 
than  ample  reasons.  But  I  am  devoted  to  my  husband,  mad- 
ame.  Two  years  of  tears  have  not  effaced  his  image  from  my 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  CAT  AND  RACKET 


53 


heart,  though  I  have  lost  his.  In  my  folly  I  dared  to  dream 
of  a  contest  with  you ;  and  I  have  come  to  you  to  ask  you  by 
what  means  I  may  triumph  over  yourself.  Oh,  madame/' 
cried  the  young  wife,  ardently  seizing  the  hand  which  her 
rival  allowed  her  to  hold,  "I  will  never  pray  to  God  for  my 
own  happiness  with  so  much  fervor  as  I  will  beseech  Him 
for  yours,  if  you  will  help  me  to  win  back  Sommervieux's 
regard — I  will  not  say  his  love.  I  have  no  hope  but  in  you. 
Ah !  tell  me  how  you  could  please  him,  and  make  him  forget 

the  first  days  "    At  these  words  Augustine  broke  down, 

suffocated  with  sobs  she  could  not  suppress.  Ashamed  of  her 
weakness,  she  hid  her  face  in  her  handkerchief,  which  she 
bathed  with  tears. 

"What  a  child  you  are,  my  dear  little  beauty!"  said  the 
Duchess,  carried  away  by  the  novelty  of  such  a  scene,  and 
touched,  in  spite  of  herself,  at  receiving  such  homage  from 
the  most  perfect  virtue  perhaps  in  Paris.  She  took  the 
young  wife's  handkerchief,  and  herself  wiped  the  tears  from 
her  eyes,  soothing  her  by  a  few  monosyllables  murmured  with 
gracious  compassion.  After  a  moment's  silence  the  Duchess, 
grasping  poor  Augustine's  hands  in  both  her  own — hands 
that  had  a  rare  character  of  dignity  and  powerful  beauty — 
said  in  a  gentle  and  friendly  voice:  "My  first  warning  is 
to  advise  you  not  to  weep  so  bitterly;  tears  are  disfiguring. 
We  must  learn  to  deal  firmly  with  the  sorrows  that  make  us 
ill,  for  love  does  not  linger  long  by  a  sick-bed.  Melancholy, 
at  first,  no  doubt,  lends  a  certain  attractive  grace,  but  it  ends 
by  dragging  the  features  and  blighting  the  loveliest  face. 
And  besides,  our  tyrants  are  so  vain  as  to  insist  that  their 
slaves  should  be  always  cheerful." 

"But,  madame,  it  is  not  in  my  power  not  to  feel.  How  is 
it  possible,  without  suffering  a  thousand  deaths,  to  see  the 
face  which  once  beamed  with  love  and  gladness  turn  chill, 
colorless,  and  indifferent?    I  cannot  control  my  heart!" 

"So  much  the  worse,  sweet  child.  But  I  fancy  I  know  all 
your  story.  In  the  first  place,  if  your  husband  is  unfaithful 
to  you,  understand  clearly  that  I  am  not  his  accomplice.  If 


64 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  CAT  AND  RACKET 


I  was  anxious  to  have  him  in  my  drawing-room,  it  was,  I 
own,  out  of  vanity;  he  was  famous,  and  he  went  nowhere. 
I  like  you  too  much  already  to  tell  you  all  the  mad  things 
he  has  done  for  my  sake.  I  will  only  reveal  one,  because 
it  may  perhaps  help  us  to  bring  him  back  to  you,  and  to  pun- 
ish him  for  the  audacity  of  his  behavior  to  me.  He  will 
end  by  compromising  me.  I  know  the  world  too  well,  my 
dear,  to  abandon  myself  to  the  discretion  of  a  too  superior 
man.  You  should  know  that  one  may  allow  them  to  court 
one,  but  marry  them — that  is  a  mistake!  We  women  ought 
to  admire  men  of  genius,  and  delight  in  them  as  a  spectacle, 
but  as  to  living  with  them?  Never. — No,  no.  It  is  like 
wanting  to  find  pleasure  in  inspecting  the  machinery  of  the 
opera  instead  of  sitting  in  a  box  to  enjoy  its  brilliant  illu- 
sions. But  this  misfortune  has  fallen  on  you,  my  poor  child, 
has  it  not  ?  Well,  then,  you  must  try  to  arm  yourself  against 
tyranny." 

"Ah,  madame,  before  coming  in  here,  only  seeing  you  as 
I  came  in,  I  already  detected  some  arts  of  which  I  had  no 
suspicion." 

"Well,  come  and  see  me  sometimes,  and  it  will  not  be  long 
before  you  have  mastered  the  knowledge  of  these  trifles,  im- 
portant,  too,  in  their  way.  Outward  things  are,  to  fools, 
half  of  life ;  and  in  that  matter  more  than  one  clever  man  is 
a  fool,  in  spite  of  all  his  talent.  But  I  dare  wager  you  never 
could  refuse  your  Theodore  anything !" 

"How  refuse  anything,  madame,  if  one  loves  a  man?" 

"Poor  innocent,  I  could  adore  you  for  your  simplicity. 
You  should  know  that  the  more  we  love  the  less  we  should 
allow  a  man,  above  all,  a  husband,  to  see  the  whole  extent 
of  our  passion.  The  one  who  loves  most  is  tyrannized  over, 
and,  which  is  worse,  is  sooner  or  later  neglected.  The  one 
who  wishes  to  rule  should  " 

"What,  madame,  must  I  then  dissimulate,  calculate,  be- 
come false,  form  an  artificial  character,  and  live  in  it  ?  How 
is  it  possible  to  live  in  such  a  way?  Can  you  "  she  hesi- 
tated; the  Duchess  smiled. 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  CAT  AND  RACKET 


55 


"My  dear  child/'  the  great  lady  went  on  in  a  serious  tone, 
"conjugal  happiness  has  in  all  times  been  a  speculation,  a 
business  demanding  particular  attention.  If  you  persist  in 
talking  passion  while  I  am  talking  marriage,  we  shall  soon 
cease  to  understand  each  other.  Listen  to  me,"  she  went  on, 
assuming  a  confidential  tone.  "I  have  been  in  the  way  of 
seeing  some  of  the  superior  men  of  our  day.  Those  who  have 
married  have  for  the  most  part  chosen  quite  insignificant 
wives.  Well,  those  wives  governed  them,  as  the  Emperor  gov- 
erns us;  and  if  they  were  not  loved,  they  were  at  least  re- 
spected. I  like  secrets — especially  those  which  concern  women 
—well  enough  to  have  amused  myself  by  seeking  the  clue  to 
the  riddle.  Well,  my  sweet  child,  those  worthy  women  had  the 
gift  of  analyzing  their  husbands'  nature;  instead  of  taking 
fright,  like  you,  at  their  superiority,  they  very  acutely 
noted  the  qualities  they  lacked,  and  either  by  possessing  those 
qualities,  or  by  feigning  to  possess  them,  they  found  means 
of  making  such  a  handsome  display  of  them  in  their  hus- 
bands' eyes  that  in  the  end  they  impressed  them.  Also,  I 
must  tell  you,  all  these  souls  which  appear  so  lofty  have  Just 
a  speck  of  madness  in  them,  which  we  ought  to  know  how 
to  take  advantage  of.  By  firmly  resolving  to  have  the  upper 
hand  and  never  deviating  from  that  aim,  by  bringing  all  our 
actions  to  bear  on  it,  all  our  ideas,  our  cajoler}^,  we  sub- 
jugate these  eminently  capricious  natures,  which,  by  the  very 
mutability  of  their  thoughts,  lend  us  the  means  of  influenc- 
ing them." 

"Good  heavens !"  cried  the  young  wife  in  dismay.  "And 
this  is  life.   It  is  a  warfare  " 

"In  which  we  must  always  threaten,"  said  the  Duchess, 
laughing.  "Our  power  is  wholly  factitious.  And  we  must 
never  allow  a  man  to  despise  us;  it  is  impossible  to  recover 
from  such  a  descent  but  by  odious  manoeuvring.  Come,"  she 
-  added,  "I  will  give  you  a  means  of  bringing  your  husband 
to  his  senses." 

She  rose  with  a  smile  to  guide  the  young  and  guileless  ap- 
prentice to  conjugal  arts  through  the  labyrinth  of  her  palace. 


86 


AT  THE  SIGN  OP  THE  CAT  AND  RACKET 


They  came  to  a  back-staircase,  which  led  up  to  the  reception 
rooms.  As  Madame  de  Carigliano  pressed  the  secret  spring- 
lock  of  the  door  she  stopped,  looking  at  Augustine  with  an 
inimitable  gleam  of  shrewdness  and  grace.  "The  Due  de 
Carigliano  adores  me/'  said  she.  "Well,  he  dare  not  enter 
by  this  door  without  my  leave.  And  he  is  a  man  in  the  habit 
of  commanding  thousands  of  soldiers.  He  knows  how  to  face 
a  battery,  but  before  me — ^he  is  afraid  V' 

Augustine  sighed.  They  entered  a  sumptuous  gallery, 
where  the  painter's  wife  was  led  by  the  Duchess  up  to  the 
portrait  painted  by  Theodore  of  Mademoiselle  Guillaume. 
On  seeing  it,  Augustine  uttered  a  cry. 

"I  knew  it  was  no  longer  in  my  house,''  she  said,  "but — 
here!  

"My  dear  child,  I  asked  for  it  merely  to  see  what  pitch 
of  idiocy  a  man  of  genius  may  attain  to.  Sooner  or  later 
I  should  have  returned  it  to  you,  for  I  never  expected  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  the  original  here  face  to  face  with  the 
copy.  While  we  finish  our  conversation  I  will  have  it  carried 
down  to  your  carriage.  And  if,  armed  with  such  a  talis- 
man, you  are  not  your  husband's  mistress  for  a  hundred  years, 
you  are  not  a  woman,  and  you  deserve  your  fate." 

Augustine  kissed  the  Duchess'  hand,  and  the  lady  clasped 
her  to  her  heart,  with  all  the  more  tenderness  because  she 
would  forget  her  by  the  morrow.  This  scene  might  perhaps 
have  destroyed  for  ever  the  candor  and  purity  of  a  less  vir- 
tuous woman  than  Augustine,  for  the  astute  politics  of  the 
higher  social  spheres  were  no  more  consonant  to  Augustine 
than  the  narrow  reasoning  of  Joseph  Lebas,  or  Madame  Guil- 
laume's  vapid  morality.  Strange  are  the  results  of  the  false 
positions  into  which  we  may  be  brought  by  the  slightest  mis- 
take in  the  conduct  of  life!  Augustine  was  like  an  Alpine 
cowherd  surprised  by  an  avalanche;  if  he  hesitates,  if  he 
listens  to  the  shouts  of  his  comrades,  he  is  almost  certainly 
lost.    In  such  a  crisis  the  heart  steels  itself  or  breaks. 

Madame  de  Sommervieux  returned  home  a  prey  to  such 
agitation  as  it  is  difiicult  to  describe.   Her  conversation  with 


AT  THE  SIGN  OP  THE  CAT  AND  RACKET  57 


the  Duchesse  de  Carigliano  had  roused  in  her  mind  a  crowd 
of  contradictory  thoughts.  Like  the  sheep  in  the  fable,  full 
of  courage  in  the  wolf's  absence,  she  preached  to  herself,  and 
laid  down  admirable  plans  of  conduct;  she  devised  a  thou- 
sand coquettish  stratagems;  she  even  talked  to  her  hus- 
band, finding,  away  from  him,  all  the  springs  of  true 
eloquence  which  never  desert  a  woman;  then,  as  she  pictured 
to  herself  Theodore^s  clear  and  steadfast  gaze,  she  began  to 
quake.  When  she  asked  whether  monsieur  were  at  home  her 
voice  shook.  On  learning  that  he  would  not  be  in  to  dinner, 
she  felt  an  unaccountable  thrill  of  joy.  Like  a  criminal  who 
has  appealed  against  sentence  of  death,  a  respite,  however 
short,  seemed  to  her  a  lifetime.  She  placed  the  portrait  in. 
her  room,  and  waited  for  her  husband  in  all  the  agonies  of 
hope.  That  this  venture  must  decide  her  future  life,  she 
felt  too  keenly  not  to  shiver  at  every  sound,  even  the  low 
ticking  of  the  clock,  which  seemed  to  aggravate  her  terrors  by 
doling  them  out  to  her.  She  tried  to  cheat  time  by  various 
devices.  The  idea  struck  her  of  dressing  in  a  way  which 
would  make  her  exactly  like  the  portrait.  Then,  knowing 
her  husband's  restless  temper,  she  had  her  room  lighted  up 
with  unusual  brightness,  feeling  sure  that  when  he  came  in 
curiosity  would  bring  him  there  at  once.  Midnight  had 
struck  when,  at  the  call  of  the  groom,  the  street  gate  was 
opened,  and  the  artist's  carriage  rumbled  in  over  the  stones 
of  the  silent  courtyard. 

"What  is  the  meaning  of  this  illumination?"  asked  Theo- 
dore in  glad  tones,  as  he  came  into  her  room. 

Augustine  skilfully  seized  the  auspicious  moment;  she 
threw  herself  into  her  husband's  arms,  and  pointed  to  the 
portrait.  The  artist  stood  rigid  as  a  rock,  and  his  e3^es 
turned  alternately  on  Augustine,  on  the  accusing  dress.  The 
frightened  wife,  half-dead,  as  she  watched  her  husband's 
nhangeful  brow — that  terrible  brow — saw  the  expressive  fur- 
rows gathering  like  clouds;  then  she  felt  her  blood  curdling 
in  her  veins  when,  with  a  glaring  look,  and  in  a  deep  hollow 
voice,  he  began  to  question  her: 


58 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  CAT  AND  BACKET 


^^here  did  you  find  that  picture  ?" 

"The  Duchesse  de  Carigliano  returned  it  to  me/' 

"You  asked  her  for  it?" 

"I  did  not  know  that  she  had  it." 

The  gentleness,  or  rather  the  exquisite  sweetness  of  this 
angel's  voice,  might  have  touched  a  cannibal,  but  not  an  artist 
in  the  clutches  of  wounded  vanity. 

"It  is  worthy  of  her !"  exclaimed  the  painter  in  a  voice  of 
thunder.  "I  will  be  revenged !"  he  cried^  striding  up  and 
down  the  room.  "She  shall  die  of  shame;  I  will  paint  her! 
Yes,  I  will  paint  her  as  Messalina  stealing  out  at  night  from 
the  palace  of  Claudius." 

"Theodore !"  said  a  faint  voice. 

"I  will  kill  her !" 

"My  dear  " 

"She  is  in  love  with  that  little  cavalry  colonel,  because  he 

rides  well  " 

"Theodore !" 

"Let  me  be!"  said  the  painter  in  a  tone  almost  like  a 
roar. 

It  would  be  odious  to  describe  the  whole  scene.  In  the 
end  the  frenzy  of  passion  prompted  the  artist  to  acts  and 
words  which  any  woman  not  so  young  as  Augustine  would 
have  ascribed  to  madness. 

At  eight  o'clock  next  morning  Madame  Guillaume,  sur- 
prising her  daughter,  found  her  pale,  with  red  eyes,  her  hair 
in  disorder,  holding  a  handkerchief  soaked  with  tears,  whiLL* 
she  gazed  at  the  floor  strewn  with  the  torn  fragments  of  a 
dress  and  the  broken  pieces  of  a  large  gilt  picture-frame.  Au- 
gustine, almost  senseless  with  grief,  pointed  to  the  wreck  with, 
a  gesture  of  deep  despair. 

"I  don't  know  that  the  loss  is  very  great !"  cried  the  old 
mistress  of  the  Cat  and  Eacket.  "It  was  like  you,  no  doubt ; 
but  I  am  told  that  there  is  a  man  on  the  boulevard  who 
paints  lovely  portraits  for  fifty  crowns." 

"Oh,  mother !" 

"Poor  child,  you  are  quite  right,"  replied  Madame  Guil- 


AT  THE  SIGN  OB^  THE  CAT  AND  RACKET  59 

iaume,  who  misinterpreted  the  expression  of  her  daughter's 
glance  at  her.  "True^,  my  child,  no  one  ever  can  love  you  as 
fondly  as  a  mother.  My  darling,  I  guess  it  all;  but  confide 
your  sorrovs^s  to  me,  and  I  will  comfort  you.  Did  I  not  tell 
you  long  ago  that  the  man  was  mad!  Your  maid  has  told 
me  pretty  stories.   Why,  he  must  be  a  perfect  monster 

Augustine  laid  a  finger  on  her  white  lips,  as  if  to  implore 
a  moment's  silence.  During  this  dreadful  night  misery  had 
led  her  to  that  patient  resignation  which  in  mothers  and  lov- 
ing wives  transcends  in  its  effects  all  human  energy,  and  per- 
haps reveals  in  the  heart  of  women  the  existence  of  certain 
chords  which  God  has  withheld  from  men. 

An  inscription  engraved  on  a  broken  column  in  the  ceme- 
tery at  Montmartre  states  that  Madame  de  Sommervieux  died 
at  the  age  of  twenty-seven.  In  the  simple  words  of  this 
epitaph  one  of  the  timid  creature's  friends  can  read  the  last 
scene  of  a  tragedy.  Every  year,  on  the  second  of  November, 
the  solemn  day  of  the  dead,  he  never  passes  this  youthful 
monument  without  wondering  whether  it  does  not  need  a 
stronger  woman  than  Augustine  to  endure  the  violent  em- 
brace of  genius? 

"The  humble  and  modest  flowers  that  bloom  in  the  valley," 
he  reflects,  "perish  perhaps  when  they  are  transplanted  too 
near  the  skies,  to  the  region  where  storms  gather  and  the  sun 
is  scorching." 


THE  BALL  AT  SCEAUX 


To  Henri  de  Balzac,  his  brother  Honore, 

The  Comte  de  Fontaine,  head  of  one  of  the  oldest  families 
in  Poitou,  had  served  the  Bourbon  cause  with  intelligence 
and  bravery  during  the  war  in  La  Vendee  against  the  Ee- 
public.  After  having  escaped  all  the  dangers  which  threat- 
ened the  royalist  leaders  during  this  stormy  period  of  modem 
history,  he  was  wont  to  say  in  jest,  "I  am  one  of  the  men  who 
gave  themselves  to  be  killed  on  the  steps  of  the  throne."  And 
the  pleasantry  had  some  truth  in  it,  as  spoken  by  a  man  left 
for  dead  at  the  bloody  battle  of  Les  Quatre  Chemins.  Though 
ruined  by  confiscation,  the  staunch  Vendeen  steadily  refused 
the  lucrative  posts  offered  to  him  by  the  Emperor  Napoleon. 
Immovable  in  his  aristocratic  faith,  he  had  blindly  obeyed 
its  precepts  when  he  thought  it  fitting  to  choose  a  companion 
for  life.  In  spite  of  the  blandishments  of  a  rich  but  revolu- 
tionary parvenu,  who  valued  the  alliance  at  a  high  figure, 
he  married  Mademoiselle  de  Kergarouet,  without  a  fortune, 
but  belonging  to  one  of  the  oldest  families  in  Brittany. 

When  the  second  revolution  burst  on  Monsieur  de  Fon- 
taine he  was  encumbered  with  a  large  family.  Though  it 
was  no  part  of  the  noble  gentleman's  views  to  solicit  favors, 
he  yielded  to  his  wife's  wish,  left  his  country  estate,  of  which 
the  income  barely  sufficed  to  maintain  his  children,  and  came 
to  Paris.  Saddened  by  seeing  the  greediness  of  his  former 
comrades  in  the  rush  for  places  and  dignities  under  the  new 
Constitution,  he  was  about  to  return  to  his  property  when  he 
received  a  ministerial  despatch,  in  which  a  well-known  mag- 
nate announced  to  him  his  nomination  as  marechal  de  camp, 
or  brigadier-general,  under  a  rule  which  allowed  the  officers 

31\ 


62 


THE  BALL  AT  SCEAUX 


of  the  Catholic  armies  to  count  the  twenty  submerged  years 
of  Louis  XVIII/s  reign  as  years  of  service.  Some  days  later 
he  further  received,  without  any  solicitation,  ex  officio,  the 
crosses  of  the  Legion  of  Honor  and  of  Saint-Louis. 

Shaken  in  his  determination  by  these  successive  favors,  due, 
as  he  supposed,  to  the  monarch's  remembrance,  he  was  no 
longer  satisfied  with  taking  his  family,  as  he  had  piously 
done  every  Sunday,  to  cry  "Vive  le  Roi"  in  the  hall  of  the 
Tuileries  when  the  royal  family  passed  through  on  their  way 
to  chapel;  he  craved  the  favor  of  a  private  audience.  The 
audience,  at  once  granted,  was  in  no  sense  private.  The  royal 
drawing-room  was  full  of  old  adherents,  whose  powdered 
heads,  seen  from  above,  suggested  a  carpet  of  snow.  There 
the  Count  met  some  old  friends,  who  received  him  somewhat 
coldly;  but  the  princes  he  thought  adorable,  an  enthusiastic 
expression  which  escaped  him  when  the  most  gracious  of  his 
masters,  to  whom  the  Count  had  supposed  himself  to  be 
known  only  by  name,  came  to  shake  hands  with  him,  and 
spoke  of  him  as  the  most  thorough  Vendeen  of  them  all. 
Notwithstanding  this  ovation,  none  of  these  august  persons 
thought  of  inquiring  as  to  the  sum  of  his  losses,  or  of  the 
money  he  had  poured  so  generously  into  the  chests  of  the 
Catholic  regiments.  He  discovered,  a  little  late,  that  he  had 
made  war  at  his  own  cost.  Towards  the  end  of  the  evening 
he  thought  he  might  venture  on  a  witty  allusion  to  the  state 
of  his  affairs,  similar,  as  it  was,  to  that  of  many  other  gen- 
tlemen. His  Majesty  laughed  heartily  enough;  any  speech 
that  bore  the  hall-mark  of  wit  was  certain  to  please  him ;  but 
he  nevertheless  replied  with  one  of  those  royal  pleasantriefi 
whose  sweetness  is  more  formidable  than  the  anger  of  a  re- 
buke. One  of  the  King's  most  intimate  advisers  took  an  op- 
portunity of  going  up  to  the  fortune-seeking  Vendeen,  and 
made  him  understand  by  a  keen  and  polite  hint  that  the  time 
had  not  yet  come  for  settling  accounts  with  the  sovereign; 
that  there  were  bills  of  much  longer  standing  than  his  on  the 
books,  and  there,  no  doubt,  they  would  remain,  as  part  of  the 
history  of  the  Eevolution.    The  Count  prudently  withdrew 


THE  BALL  AT  SCEAUX 


«3 


from  the  venerable  group,  which  formed  a  respectful  semi- 
circle before  the  august  family;  then,  having  extricated  his 
sword,  not  without  some  difficulty,  from  among  the  lean  legs 
which  had  got  mixed  up  with  it,  he  crossed  the  courtyard  of 
the  Tuileries  and  got  into  the  hackney  cab  he  had  left  on  the 
quay.  With  the  restive  spirit,  which  is  peculiar  to  the  no- 
bility of  the  old  school,  in  whom  still  survives  the  memory 
of  the  League  and  the  day  of  the  Barricades  (in  1588),  ho 
bewailed  himself  in  his  cab,  loudly  enough  to  compromise 
him,  over  the  change  that  had  come  over  the  Court.  "For- 
merly," he  said  to  himself,  "every  one  could  speak  freely  to 
the  King  of  his  own  little  affairs;  the  nobles  could  ask  him 
a  favor,  or  for  money,  when  it  suited  them,  and  nowadays 
one  cannot  recover  the  money  advanced  for  his  service  with- 
out raising  a  scandal !  By  Heaven !  the  cross  of  Saint-Louis 
and  the  rank  of  brigadier-general  will  not  make  good  the 
three  hundred  thousand  livres  I  have  spent,  out  and  out, 
on  the  royal  cause.  I  must  speak  to  the  King,  face  to  face, 
in  his  own  room." 

This  scene  cooled  Monsieur  de  Fontaine's  ardor  all  the 
more  effectually  because  his  requests  for  an  interview  were 
never  answered.  And,  indeed,  he  saw  the  upstarts  of  the 
Empire  obtaining  some  of  the  offices  reserved,  under  the  old 
monarchy,  for  the  highest  families. 

"All  is  lost !"  he  exclaimed  one  morning.  "The  King  has 
certainly  never  been  other  than  a  revolutionary.  But  for 
Monsieur,  who  never  derogates,  and  is  some  comfort  to  his 
faithful  adherents,  I  do  not  know  what  hands  the  crown  of 
France  might  not  fall  into  if  things  are  to  go  on  like  this. 
Their  cursed  constitutional  system  is  the  worst  possible  gov- 
ernment, and  can  never  suit  France.  Louis  XVIII.  and 
Monsieur  Beugnot  spoiled  everything  at  Saint  Ouen." 

The  Count,  in  despair,  was  preparing  to  retire  to  his  estate, 
abandoning,  with  dignity,  all  claims  to  repayment.  At  this 
moment  the  events  of  the  20th  March  (1815)  gave  warning 
of  a  fresh  storm,  threatening  to  overwhelm  the  legitimate 
monarch  and  his  defenders.   Monsieur  de  Fontaine,  like  one 


64 


THE  BALL  AT  SCEAUX 


of  those  generous  souls  who  do  not  dismiss  a  sei*vant  in  a 
torrent  of  rain,  borrowed  on  his  lands  to  follow  the  routed 
monarchy,  without  knowing  whether  this  complicity  in  emi- 
gration would  prove  more  propitious  to  him  than  his  past 
devotion.  But  when  he  perceived  that  the  companions  of  the 
King^s  exile  were  in  higher  favor  than  the  brave  men  who 
had  protested,  sword  in  hand,  against  the  establishment  of 
the  republic,  he  may  perhaps  have  hoped  to  derive  greater 
profit  from  this  journey  into  a  foreign  land  than  from  active 
and  dangerous  service  in  the  heart  of  his  own  country.  Nor 
was  his  courtier-like  calculation  one  of  these  rash  specula- 
tions which  promise  splendid  results  on  paper,  and  are  ruin- 
ous in  effect.  He  was — to  quote  the  wittiest  and  most  success- 
ful of  our  diplomates — one  of  the  faithful  five  hundred  who 
shared  the  exile  of  the  Court  at  Ghent,  and  one  of  the  fifty 
thousand  who  returned  with  it.  During  the  short  banish- 
ment of  royalty.  Monsieur  de  Fontaine  was  so  happy  as  to 
be  employed  by  Louis  XVIII.,  and  found  more  than  one 
opportunity  of  giving  him  proofs  of  great  political  honesty 
and  sincere  attachment.  One  evening,  when  the  King  had 
nothing  better  to  do,  he  recalled  Monsieur  de  Fontaine's  wit- 
ticism at  the  Tuileries.  The  old  Vendeen  did  not  let  such 
a  happy  chance  slip ;  he  told  his  history  with  so  much  vivacity 
that  a  king,  who  never  forgot  anything,  might  remember  it 
at  a  convenient  season.  The  royal  amateur  of  literature  also 
observed  the  elegant  style  given  to  some  notes  which  the  dis- 
creet gentleman  had  been  invited  to  recast.  This  little  suc- 
cess stamped  Monsieur  de  Fontaine  on  the  King's  memory 
as  one  of  the  loyal  servants  of  the  Crown. 

At  the  second  restoration  the  Count  was  one  of  those  special 
envoys  who  were  sent  throughout  the  departments  charged 
with  absolute  jurisdiction  over  the  leaders  of  revolt;  but  he 
used  his  terrible  powers  with  moderation.  As  soon  as  this 
temporary  commission  was  ended,  the  High  Provost  found 
a  seat  in  the  Privy  Council,  became  a  deputy,  spoke  little, 
listened  much,  and  changed  his  opinions  very  considerably. 
Certain  circumstances,  unknown  to  historians,  brought  him 


THE  BALL  AT  SCEAT3X 


65 


into  such  intimate  relations  with  the  Sovereign,  that  one  day, 
as  he  came  in,  the  shrewd  monarch  addressed  him  thus :  "My 
friend  Fontaine,  I  shall  take  care  never  to  appoint  you  to  be 
director-general,  or  minister.  Neither  you  nor  I,  as  em- 
ployes, could  keep  our  place  on  account  of  our  opinions. 
Eepresentative  government  has  this  advantage:  it  saves  Us 
the  trouble  We  used  to  have,  of  dismissing  Our  Secretaries  of 
State.  Our  Council  is  a  perfect  inn-parlor,  whither  public 
opinion  sometimes  sends  strange  travelers;  however.  We 
can  always  find  a  place  for  Our  faithful  adherents." 

This  ironical  speech  was  introductory  to  a  rescript  giving 
Monsieur  de  Fontaine  an  appointment  as  administrator  in 
the  office  of  Crown  lands.  As  a  consequence  of  the  intelligent 
attention  with  which  he  listened  to  his  royal  Friend's  sar- 
ssasms,  his  name  always  rose  to  His  Majesty's  lips  when  a 
commission  was  to  be  appointed  of  which  the  members  were 
to  receive  a  handsome  salary.  He  had  the  good  sense  to  hold 
his  tongue  about  the  favor  with  which  he  was  honored,  and 
knew  how  to  entertain  the  monarch  in  those  familiar  chats 
in  which  Louis  XVIII.  delighted  as  much  as  in  a  well- written 
note,  by  his  brilliant  manner  of  repeating  political  anecdotes, 
£'.nd  the  political  or  parliamentary  tittle-tattle — if  the  expres- 
f ion  may  pass — which  at  that  time  was  rife.  It  is  well  known 
lhat  he  was  immensely  amused  by  every  detail  of  his  Oouv- 
ernementahilite — a  word  adopted  by  his  facetious  Majesty. 

Thanks  to  the  Comte  de  Fontaine's  good  sense,  wit,  and 
taot,  every  member  of  his  numerous  family,  however  young, 
ended,  as  he  jestingly  told  his  Sovereign,  in  attaching  him- 
self like  a  silkworm  to  the  leaves  of  the  Pay-List.  Thus, 
by  the  King's  intervention,  his  eldest  son  found  a  high  and 
fixt,:d  position  as  a  lawyer.  The  second,  before  the  restora- 
tion a  mere  captain,  was  appointed  to  the  command  of  a 
legion  on  the  return  from  Ghent;  then,  thanks  to  the  con- 
fusion of  1815,  when  the  regulations  were  evaded,  he  passed 
into  the  bodyguard,  returned  to  a  line  regiment,  and  found 
himself  after  the  affair  of  the  Trocadero  a  lieutenant-general 
with  a  commission  in  the  Guards.    The  youngest,  appointed 


66 


THE  BALL  AT  SCEAUX 


sous-prefet,  ere  long  became  a  legal  official  and  director  of 
a  municipal  board  of  the  city  of  Paris,  where  he  was  safe 
from  changes  in  the  Legislature.  These  bounties,  bestowed 
without  parade,  and  as  secret  as  the  favor  enjoyed  by  the 
Count,  fell  unperceived.  Though  the  father  and  his  three 
sons  each  had  sinecures  enough  to  enjoy  an  income  in  salaries 
almost  equal  to  that  of  a  chief  of  department,  their  political 
good  fortune  excited  no  envy.  In  those  early  days  of  the 
constitutional  system,  few  persons  had  very  precise  ideas  of 
the  peaceful  domain  of  the  civil  service,  where  astute  favor- 
ites managed  to  find  an  equivalent  for  the  demolished  abbeys. 
Monsieur  le  Comte  de  Fontaine,  who  till  lately  boasted  that 
he  had  not  read  the  Charter,  and  displayed  such  indigna- 
tion at  the  greed  of  courtiers,  had,  before  long,  proved  to 
his  august  master  that  he  understood^  as  well  as  the  King 
himself,  the  spirit  and  resources  of  the  representative  system. 
At  the  same  time,  notwithstanding  the  established  careers  open 
to  his  three  sons,  and  the  pecuniary  advantages  derived  from 
four  official  appointments,  Monsieur  de  Fontaine  was  the 
head  of  too  large  a  family  to  be  able  to  re-establish  his  fortune 
easily  and  rapidly. 

His  three  sons  were  rich  in  prospects,  in  favor,  and  in 
talent ;  but  he  had  three  daughters,  and  was  afraid  of  weary- 
ing the  monarch's  benevolence.  It  occurred  to  him  to  men  - 
tion only  one  by  one,  these  virgins  eager  to  light  their  torches. 
The  King  had  too  much  good  taste  to  leave  his  work  incom- 
plete. The  marriage  of  the  eldest  with  a  Eeceiver- General, 
Planat  de  Baudry,  was  arranged  by  one  of  those  royal  speeches 
which  cost  nothing  and  are  worth  millions.  One  evening, 
when  the  Sovereign  was  out  of  spirits,  he  smiled  on  hearing 
of  the  existence  of  another  Demoiselle  de  Fontaine,  for  whom 
he  found  a  husband  in  the  person  of  a  young  magistrate,  of 
inferior  birth,  no  doubt,  but  wealthy,  and  whom  he  created 
Baron.  When,  the  year  after,  the  Vendeen  spoke  of  Made- 
moiselle Emilie  de  Fontaine,  the  King  replied  in  his  thin, 
sharp  tones,  ''Amicus  Plato  sed  magis  arnica  Natiof'  Then, 
a  few  days  later,  he  treated  his  "friend  Fontaine"  to  a 


THE  BALL  AT  SCEAUX 


07 


quatrain,  harmless  enough,  which  he  styled  an  epigram,  in 
which  he  made  fun  of  these  three  daughters  so  skilfully  in- 
troduced, under  the  form  of  a  trinity.  Nay,  if  report  is  to 
be  believed,  the  monarch  had  found  the  point  of  the  jest  in 
the  Unity  of  the  three  Divine  Persons. 

"If  your  Majesty  would  only  condescend  to  turn  the  epi- 
gram into  an  epithalamium  ?"  said  the  Count,  trying  to  turn 
the  sally  to  good  account. 

•'Though  I  see  the  rhyme  of  it,  I  fail  to  see  the  reason," 
retorted  the  King,  who  did  not  relish  any  pleasantry,  how- 
ever mild,  on  the  subject  of  his  poetry. 

From  that  day  his  intercourse  with  Monsieur  de  Fontaine 
showed  less  amenity.  Kings  enjoy  contradicting  more  than 
people  think.  Like  most  youngest  children,  Emilie  de  Fon- 
taine was  a  Benjamin  spoilt  by  almost  everybody.  The  King's 
coolness,  therefore,  caused  the  Count  all  the  more  regret,  be- 
cause no  marriage  was  ever  so  difficult  to  arrange  as  that  of 
this  darKng  daughter.  To  understand  all  the  obstacles  we 
must  make  our  way  into  the  fine  residence  where  the  official 
was  housed  at  the  expense  of  the  nation.  Emilie  had  spent 
her  childhood  on  the  family  estate,  enjoying  the  abuiidanc(i 
which  suffices  for  the  joys  of  early  youth ;  her  lightest  wishes 
had  be^Q  law  to  her  sisters,  her  brothers,  her  mother,  and  even 
her  father.  All  her  relations  doted  on  her.  Having  com<.^ 
to  years  of  discretion  just  when  her  family  was  loaded  with 
the  favors  of  fortune,  the  enchantment  of  life  continued. 
The  luxury  of  Paris  seemed  to  her  just  as  natural  as  j», 
wealth  of  flowers  or  fruit,  or  as  the  rural  plenty  which  ha(,l 
been  the  joy  of  her  first  years.  Just  as  in  her  childhood  shd 
had  never  been  thwarted  in  the  satisfaction  of  her  playful 
desires,  so  now,  at  fourteen,  she  was  still  obeyed  when  she> 
rushed  into  the  whirl  of  fashion. 

Thus,  accustomed  by  degrees  to  the  enjoyment  of  money, 
elegance  of  dress,  of  gilded  drawing-rooms  and  fine  carriages, 
became  as  necessary  to  her  as  the  compliments  of  flattery,  sin- 
cere or  false,  and  the  festivities  and  vanities  of  court  life. 
Like  most  spoiled  children,  she  tyrannized  over  those  who 


68 


THE  BALL  AT  SCEAUX 


loved  her,  and  kept  her  blandishments  for  those  who  were  in- 
different. Her  faults  grew  with  her  growth,  and  her  parents 
were  to  gather  the  bitter  fruits  of  this  disastrous  education. 
At  the  age  of  nineteen  Emilie  de  Fontaine  had  not  yet  been 
pleased  to  make  a  choice  from  among  the  many  young  men 
whom  her  father's  politics  brought  to  his  entertainments. 
Though  so  young,  she  asserted  in  society  all  the  freedom  of 
mind  that  a  married  woman  can  enjoy.  Her  beauty  was  so 
remarkable  that,  for  her,  to  appear  in  a  room  was  to  be  its 
queen;  but,  like  sovereigns,  she  had  no  friends,  though  she 
was  everywhere  the  object  of  attentions  to  which  a  finer  nature 
than  hers  might  perhaps  have  succumbed.  Not  a  man,  not 
even  an  old  man,  had  it  in  him  to  contradict  the  opinions 
of  a  young  girl  whose  lightest  look  could  rekindle  love  in 
the  coldest  heart. 

She  had  been  educated  with  a  care  which  her  sisters  had 
not  enjoyed ;  painted  pretty  well,  spoke  Italian  and  English, 
and  played  the  piano  brilliantly;  her  voice,  trained  by  the 
best  masters,  had  a  ring  in  it  which  made  her  singing  irre- 
sistibly charming.  Clever,  and  intimate  with  every  branch 
of  literature,  she  might  have  made  folks  believe  that,  as  Mas- 
carille  says,  people  of  quality  come  into  the  world  knowing 
everything.  She  could  argue  fluently  on  Italian  or  Flemish 
painting,  on  the  Middle  Ages  or  the  Renaissance ;  pronounced 
at  haphazard  on  books  new  or  old,  and  could  expose  the  de- 
fects of  a  work  with  a  cruelly  graceful  wit.  The  simplest 
thing  she  said  was  accepted  by  an  admiring  crowd  as  a 
fetfah  of  the  Sultan  by  the  Turks.  She  thus  dazzled  shal- 
low persons;  as  to  deeper  minds,  her  natural  tact  enabled 
her  to  discern  them,  and  for  them  she  put  forth  so  much 
fascination  that,  under  cover  of  her  charms,  she  escaped  their 
scrutiny.  This  enchanting  veneer  covered  a  careless  heart; 
the  opinion — common  to  many  young  girls — that  no  one  else 
dwelt  in  a  sphere  so  lofty  as  to  be  able  to  understand  the 
merits  of  her  soul;  and  a  pride  based  no  less  on  her  birth 
than  on  her  beauty.  In  the  absence  of  the  overwhelming 
sentiment  which,  sooner  or  later,  works  havoc  in  a  woman's 


THE  UAiAj  AT  SCEAUX 


69 


heart,  she  spent  her  young  ardor  in  an  immoderate  love  of 
distinctions,  and  expressed  the  deepest  contempt  for  persons 
of  inferior  birth.  Supremely  impertinent  to  all  newly-created 
nobility,  she  made  every  effort  to  get  her  parents  recognized 
as  equals  by  the  most  illustrious  families  of  the  Saint-Ger- 
main quarter. 

These  sentiments  had  not  escaped  the  observing  eye  of 
Monsieur  de  Fontaine,  who  more  than  once,  when  his  two  elder 
girls  were  married,  had  smarted  under  Emilie's  sarcasm. 
Logical  readers  will  be  surprised  to  see  the  old  Eoyaiist  be- 
stowing his  eldest  daughter  on  a  Ecceiver-General,  possessed, 
indeed,  of  some  old  hereditary  estates,  but  whose  name  was 
not  preceded  by  the  little  word  to  which  the  throne  owed  so 
many  partisans,  and  his  second  to  a  magistrate  too  lately 
Baronified  to  obscure  the  fact  that  his  father  had  sold  fire- 
wood. This  noteworthy  change  in  the  ideas  of  a  noble  on  the 
verge  of  his  sixtieth  year — an  age  when  men  rarely  renounce 
their  convictions — was  due  not  merely  to  his  unfortunate  resi- 
dence in  the  modern  Babylon,  where,  sooner  or  later,  country 
folks  all  get  their  corners  rubbed  down;  the  Comte  de  Fon- 
taine's new  political  conscience  was  also  a  result  of  the  King^s 
advice  and  friendship.  The  philosophical  prince  had  taken 
pleasure  in  converting  the  Vendeen  to  the  ideas  required  by 
the  advance  of  the  nineteenth  century,  and  the  new  aspect 
of  the  Monarchy.  Louis  XVIII.  aimed  at  fusing  parties  as 
Napoleon  had  fused  things  and  men.  The  legitimate  King, 
who  was  not  less  clever  perhaps  than  his  rival,  acted  in  a 
contrary  direction.  The  last  head  of  the  House  of  Bour- 
bon was  just  as  eager  to  satisfy  the  third  estate  and  the  crea- 
tions of  the  Empire,  by  curbing  the  clerg}^,  as  the  first  of  the 
Napoleons  had  been  to  attract  the  grand  old  nobility,  or  to 
endow  the  Church.  The  Privy  Councillor,  being  in  the  secret 
of  these  royal  projects,  had  insensibly  become  one  of  the 
most  prudent  and  influential  leaders  of  that  moderate  party 
which  most  desired  a  fusion  of  opinion  in  the  interests  of  the 
nation.  He  preached  the  expensive  doctrines  of  constitu- 
tional government,  and  lent  ail  his  weight  to  encourage  the 


70 


THE  BALL  AT  SCEAUX 


political  see-saw  which  enabled  his  master  to  rule  France  in 
the  midst  of  storms.  Perhaps  Monsieur  de  Fontaine  hoped 
that  one  of  the  sudden  gusts  of  legislation,  whose  unexpected 
efforts  then  startled  the  oldest  politicians,  might  carry  him 
up  to  the  rank  of  peer.  One  of  his  most  rigid  principles 
was  to  recognize  no  nobility  in  France  but  that  of  the  peer- 
age— the  only  families  that  might  enjoy  any  privileges. 

"A  nobility  bereft  of  privileges/'  he  would  say,  "is  a  tooi 
without  a  handle.^' 

As  far  from  Lafayette's  party  as  he  was  from  La  Bour- 
donnaye's,  he  ardently  engaged  in  the  task  of  general  recon- 
ciliation, which  was  to  result  in  a  new  era  and  splendid  for- 
tunes for  France.  He  strove  to  convince  the  families  who 
frequented  his  drawing-room,  or  those  whom  he  visited,  how 
few  favorable  openings  would  henceforth  be  offered  by  a  civil 
or  military  career.  He  urged  mothers  to  give  their  boys  a 
start  in  independent  and  industrial  professions,  explaining 
that  military  posts  and  high  Government  appointments  must 
at  last  pertain,  in  a  quite  constitutional  order,  to  the  younger 
sons  of  members  of  the  peerage.  According  to  him,  the  peo- 
ple had  conquered  a  sufficiently  large  share  in  practical  gov- 
ernment by  its  elective  assembly,  its  appointments  to  law- 
offices,  and  those  of  the  exchequer,  which,  said  he,  would  al- 
ways, as  heretofore,  be  the  natural  right  of  the  distinguished 
men  of  the  third  estate. 

These  new  notions  of  the  head  of  the  Fontaines,  and  the 
prudent  matches  for  his  eldest  girls  to  which  they  had  led, 
met  with  strong  resistance  in  the  bosom  of  his  family.  The 
Comtesse  de  Fontaine  remained  faithful  to  the  ancient  be- 
liefs which  no  woman  could  disown,  who,  through  her 
mother,  belonged  to  the  Eohans.  Although  she  had  for  a 
while  opposed  the  happiness  and  fortune  awaiting  her  two 
eldest  girls,  she  yielded  to  those  private  considerations  which 
husband  and  wife  confide  to  each  other  when  their  heads  are 
resting  on  the  same  pillow.  Monsieur  de  Fontaine  calmly 
pointed  out  to  his  wife,  by  exact  arithmetic,  that  their  resi- 
dence in  Paris,  the  necessity  for  entertaining,  the  magnifi- 


THE  BALL  AT  SCEAUX 


71 


cence  of  the  house  which  made  up  to  them  now  for  the  priva- 
tions so  bravely  shared  in  La  Vendee,  and  the  expenses  of 
their  sons,  swallowed  up  the  chief  part  of  their  income  from 
salaries.  They  must  therefore  seize,  as  a  boon  from  heaven, 
the  opportunities  which  offered  for  settling  their  girls  with 
such  wealth.  Would  they  not  some  day  enjoy  sixty — eighty — 
a  hundred  thousand  francs  a  year?  Such  advantageous 
matches  were  not  to  be  m.et  with  every  day  for  girls  without 
a  portion.  Again,  it  was  time  that  they  should  begin  to  think 
of  economizing,  to  add  to  the  estate  of  Fontaine,  and  re-estab- 
lish the  old  territorial  fortune  of  the  family.  The  Countess 
yielded  to  such  cogent  arguments,  as  every  mother  would 
have  done  in  her  place,  though  perhaps  with  a  better  grace; 
but  she  declared  that  Emilie,  at  any  rate,  should  marry  in 
such  a  way  as  to  satisfy  the  pride  she  had  unfortunately  con- 
tributed to  foster  in  the  girl's  young  soul. 

Thus  events,  which  ought  to  have  brought  joy  into  the 
family,  had  introduced  a  small  leaven  of  discord.  The  Re- 
ceiver-General and  the  young  lawyer  were  the  objects  of  a 
ceremonious  formality  which  the  Countess  and  Emilie  con- 
trived to  create.  This  etiquette  soon  found  even  ampler  op- 
portunity for  the  display  of  domestic  tyranny;  for  Lieuten- 
ant-General de  Fontaine  married  Mademoiselle  Mongenod, 
the  daughter  of  a  rich  banker;  the  President  very  sensibly 
found  a  wife  in  a  young  lady  whose  father,  twice  or  thrice  a 
millionaire,  had  traded  in  salt;  and  the  third  brother,  faith- 
ful to  his  plebeian  doctrines,  married  Mademoiselle  Grosse- 
tete,  the  only  daughter  of  the  Receiver-General  at  Bourges. 
The  three  sisters-in-law  and  the  two  brothers-in-law  found 
the  high  sphere  of  political  bigwigs,  and  the  drawing-rooms 
of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain,  so  full  of  charm  and  of  per- 
sonal advantages,  that  they  united  in  forming  a  little  court 
round  the  overbearing  Emilie.  This  treaty  between  interest 
and  pride  was  not,  however,  so  firmly  cemented  but  that  the 
young  despot  was,  not  unfrequently,  the  cause  of  revolts  in 
her  little  realm.  Scenes,  which  the  highest  circles  would  not 
have  disowned,  kept  up  a  sarcastic  temper  among  all  the  mem- 


72 


THE  BALL  AT  SCEAUX 


bers  of  this  powerful  family;  and  this,  without  seriously 
diminishing  the  regard  they  professed  in  public,  degenerated 
sometimes  in  private  into  sentiments  far  from  charitable. 
Thus  the  Lieutenant- General's  wife,  having  become  a 
Baronne,  thought  herself  quite  as  noble  as  a  Kergarouet,  and 
imagined  that  her  good  hundred  thousand  francs  a  year  gave 
her  the  right  to  be  as  impertinent  as  her  sister-in-law  Emilie, 
whom  she  would  sometimes  wish  to  see  happily  married,  as 
she  announced  that  the  daughter  of  some  peer  of  France 
had  married  Monsieur  So-and-So  with  no  title  to  his  name. 
The  Vicomtesse  de  Fontaine  amused  herself  by  eclipsing 
Emilie  in  the  taste  and  magnificence  that  were  conspicuous 
in  her  dress,  her  furniture,  and  her  carriages.  The  satirical 
spirit  in  which  her  brothers  and  sisters  sometimes  received 
the  claims  avowed  by  Mademoiselle  de  Fontaine  roused  her 
to  wrath  that  a  perfect  hailstorm  of  sharp  sayings  could 
hardly  mitigate.  So  when  the  head  of  the  family  felt  a 
slight  chill  in  the  King's  tacit  and  precarious  friendship,  he 
trembled  all  the  more  because,  as  a  result  of  her  sisters'  de- 
fiant mockery,  his  favorite  daughter  had  never  looked  so  high. 

In  the  midst  of  these  circumstances,  and  at  a  moment  when 
this  petty  domestic  warfare  had  become  serious,  the  monarch, 
whose  favor  Monsieur  de  Fontaine  still  hoped  to  regain,  was 
attacked  by  the  malady  of  which  he  was  to  die.  The  great 
political  chief,  who  knew  so  well  how  to  steer  his  bark  in 
the  midst  of  tempests,  soon  succumbed.  Certain  then  of 
favors  to  come,  the  Comte  de  Fontaine  made  every  effort  to 
collect  the  elite  of  marrying  men  about  his  youngest  daugh- 
ter. Those  who  may  have  tried  to  solve  the  difficult  problem 
of  settling  a  haughty  and  capricious  girl,  will  understand  the 
trouble  taken  by  the  unlucky  father.  Such  an  affair,  carried 
out  to  the  liking  of  his  beloved  child,  would  worthily  crown 
the  career  the  Count  had  followed  for  these  ten  years  at 
Paris.  From  the  way  in  which  his  family  claimed  salaries 
under  every  department,  it  might  be  compared  with  the 
House  of  Austria,  which,  by  intermarriage,  threatens  to  per- 
vade Europe.    The  old  Vendeen  was  not  to  be  discouraged 


THE  BALL  AT  SCBAUX 


73 


in  bringing  forward  suitors,  so  much  had  he  his  daughter's 
happiness  at  heart,  but  nothing  could  be  more  absurd  thap 
the  way  in  which  the  impertinent  young  thing  pronounced 
her  verdicts  and  judged  the  merits  of  her  adorers.  It  might 
have  been  supposed  that,  like  a  princess  in  the  Arabian 
Nights,  Emilie  was  rich  enough  and  beautiful  enough  to 
choose  from  among  all  the  princes  in  the  world.  Her  objec- 
tions were  each  more  preposterous  than  the  last:  one  had 
too  thick  knees  and  was  bow-legged,  another  was  short- 
sighted, this  one's  name  was  Durand,  that  one  limped,  and 
almost  all  were  too  fat.  Livelier,  more  attractive,  and  gayer 
than  ever  after  dismissing  two  or  three  suitors,  she  rushed 
into  the  festivities  of  the  winter  season,  and  to  balls,  where 
her  keen  eyes  criticised  the  celebrities  of  the  day,  delighted 
in  encouraging  proposals  which  she  invariably  rejected. 

Nature  had  bestowed  on  her  all  the  advantages  needed 
for  playing  the  part  of  Celimene.  Tall  and  slight,  Emilie 
de  Fontaine  could  assume  a  dignified  or  a  frolicsome  mien 
at  her  will.  Her  neck  was  rather  long,  allowing  her  to  affect 
beautiful  attitudes  of  scorn  and  impertinence.  She  had  cul- 
tivated a  large  variety  of  those  turns  of  the  head  and  femi- 
nine gestures,  which  emphasize  so  cruelly  or  so  happily  a  hint 
or  a  smile.  Fine  black  hair,  thick  and  strongly-arched  eye- 
brows, lent  her  countenance  an  expression  of  pride,  to  which 
her  coquettish  instincts  and  her  mirror  had  taught  her  to 
add  terror  by  a  stare,  or  gentleness  by  the  softness  of  her 
gaze,  by  the  set  or  the  gracious  curve  of  her  lips,  by  the 
coldness  or  the  sweetness  of  her  smile.  When  Emilie  meant 
to  conquer  a  heart,  her  pure  voice  did  not  lack  melody;  but 
she  could  also  give  it  a  sort  of  curt  clearness  when  she  was 
minded  to  paralyze  a  partner's  indiscreet  tongue.  Her  col- 
orless face  and  alabaster  brow  were  like  the  limpid  surface 
of  a  lake,  which  by  turns  is  rippled  by  the  impulse  of  a 
breeze  and  recovers  its  glad  serenity  when  the  air  is  still. 
More  than  one  young  man,  a  victim  to  her  scorn,  accused  her 
of  acting  a  part;  but  she  justified  herself  by  inspiring  her 
detractors  with  the  desire  to  please  her,  and  then  subjecting 


74 


THE  "BALL  AT  SCEAUX 


them  to  all  her  most  contemptuous  caprice.  Among  the 
young  girls  of  fashion,  not  one  knew  better  than  she  how  to 
assume  an  air  of  reserve  when  a  man  of  talent  was  intro- 
duced to  her,  or  how  to  display  the  insulting  politeness  which 
treats  an  equal  as  an  inferior,  and  to  pour  out  her  imperti- 
nence on  all  who  tried  to  hold  their  heads  on  a  level  with 
hers.  Wherever  she  went  she  seemed  to  be  accepting  homage 
rather  than  compliments,  and  even  in  a  princess  her  airs  and 
manner  would  have  transformed  the  chair  on  which  she  sat 
into  an  imperial  throne. 

Monsieur  de  Fontaine  discovered  too  late  how  utterly  the 
education  of  the  daughter  he  loved  had  been  ruined  by  the 
tender  devotion  of  the  whole  family.  The  admiration  which 
the  world  is  at  first  ready  to  bestow  on  a  young  girl,  but  for 
which,  sooner  or  later,  it  takes  its  revenge,  had  added  to 
Emilie's  pride,  and  increased  her  self-confidence.  Universal 
Gubservience  had  developed  in  her  the  selfishness  natural  to 
spoilt  children,  who,  like  kings,  make  a  plaything  of  every- 
thing that  comes  to  hand.  As  yet  the  graces  of  youth  and 
the  charms  of  talent  hid  these  faults  from  every  eye;  faults 
all  the  more  odious  in  a  woman,  since  she  can  only  please 
by  self-sacrifice  and  unselfishness;  but  nothing  escapes  the 
eye  of  a  good  father,  and  Monsieur  de  Fontaine  often  tried 
to  explain  to  his  daughter  the  more  important  pages  of  the 
mysterious  book  of  life.  Vain  effort !  He  had  to  lament 
his  daughter's  capricious  indocility  and  ironical  shrewdness 
too  often  to  persevere  in  a  task  so  difficult  as  that  of  correct- 
ing an  ill-disposed  nature.  He  contented  himself  with  giving 
her  from  time  to  time  some  gentle  and  kind  advice;  but  he 
had  the  sorrow  of  seeing  his  tenderest  words  slide  from  his 
daughter's  heart  as  if  it  were  of  marble.  A  father's  eyes 
are  slow  to  be  unsealed,  and  it  needed  more  than  one  experi- 
ence before  the  old  Koyalist  perceived  that  his  daughter's 
rare  caresses  were  bestowed  on  him  with  an  air  of  conde- 
scension. She  was  like  young  children,  who  seem  to  say  to 
their  mother,  "Make  haste  to  kiss  me,  that  I  may  go  to  play." 
In  short;,  Emilie  vouchsafed  to  be  fond  of  her  parents.  But 


THE  BALL  AT  SCEAUX 


75 


often,  by  those  sudden  whims,  which  seem  inexplicable  in 
young  girls,  she  kept  aloof  and  scarcely  ever  appeared;  she 
complained  of  having  to  share  her  father's  and  mother's 
heart  with  too  many  people ;  she  was  jealous  of  every  one,  even 
of  her  brothers  and  sisters.  Then,  after  creating  a  desert 
about  her,  the  strange  girl  accused  all  nature  of  her  unreal 
solitude  and  her  wilful  griefs.  Strong  in  the  experience  of 
her  twenty  years,  she  blamed  fate,  because,  not  knowing 
that  the  mainspring  of  happiness  is  in  ourselves,  she  de- 
manded it  of  the  circumstances  of  life.  She  would  have  fled 
to  the  ends  of  the  earth  to  escape  a  marriage  such  as  those 
of  her  two  sisters,  and  nevertheless  her  heart  was  full  of  hor- 
rible jealousy  at  seeing  them  married,  rich,  and  happy.  In 
short,  she  sometimes  led  her  mother — who  was  as  much  a 
victim  to  her  vagaries  as  Monsieur  de  Fontaine — ^to  suspect 
that  she  had  a  touch  of  madness. 

But  such  aberrations  are  quite  inexplicable;  nothing  is 
commoner  than  this  unconfessed  pride  developed  in  the  heavfc 
of  young  girls  belonging  to  families  high  in  the  social  scale, 
and  gifted  by  nature  with  great  beauty.  They  are  almost 
all  convinced  that  their  mothers,  now  forty  or  fifty  years  of 
age,  can  neither  sympathize  with  their  young  souls,  nor  con- 
ceive  of  their  imaginings.  They  fancy  that  most  mothers, 
jealous  of  their  girls,  want  to  dress  them  in  their  own  way 
with  the  premeditated  purpose  of  eclipsing  them  or  robbing 
them  of  admiration.  Hence,  often,  secret  tears  and  dumb 
revolt  against  supposed  tyranny.  In  the  midst  of  these  woes, 
which  become  very  real  though  built  on  an  imaginary  basis^, 
they  have  also  a  mania  for  composing  a  scheme  of  life,  while 
casting  for  themselves  a  brilliant  horoscope ;  their  magic  con- 
sists in  taking  their  dreams  for  reality ;  secretly,  in  their  long 
meditations,  they  resolve  to  give  their  heart  and  hand  to  none 
but  a  man  possessing  this  or  the  other  qualification;  and 
they  paint  in  fancy  a  model  to  which,  whether  or  no,  the 
future  lover  must  correspond.  After  some  little  experience 
of  life,  and  the  serious  reflections  that  come  with  years,  by 
dint  of  seeing  the  world  and  its  prosaic  round,  by  dint  of 


76 


THE  BALL  AT  SCEAUX 


observing  unhappy  examples,  the  brilliant  hues  of  their  ideal 
are  extinguished.  Then,  one  fine  day,  in  the  course  of  events, 
they  are  quite  astonished  to  find  themselves  happy  without 
the  nuptial  poetry  of  their  day-dreams.  It  was  on  the  strength 
of  that  poetry  that  Mademoiselle  Emilie  de  Fontaine,  in  her 
slender  wisdom,  had  drawn  up  a  programme  to  which  a 
suitor  must  conform  to  be  accepted.  Hence  her  disdain  and 
sarcasm.  J 
"Though  young  and  of  an  ancient  family,  he  must  be  af. 
peer  of  France,"  said  she  to  herself.  "I  could  not  bear  not 
to  see  my  coat-of-arms  on  the  panels  of  my  carriage  among 
the  folds  of  azure  mantling,  not  to  drive  like  the  princes 
down  the  broad  walk  of  the  Champs-Elysees  on  the  days  of 
Longchamps  in  Holy  Week.  Besides,  my  father  says  that 
it  will  some  day  be  the  highest  dignity  in  France.  He  must 
be  a  soldier — but  I  reserve  the  right  of  making  him  retire; 
and  he  must  bear  an  Order,  that  the  sentries  may  present 
arms  to  us." 

And  these  rare  qualifications  would  count  for  nothing  if  this 
creature  of  famcy  had  not  a  most  amiable  temper,  a  fine 
figure,  intelligence,  and,  above  all,  if  he  were  not  slender. 
To  be  lean,  a  personal  grace  which  is  but  fugitive,  especially 
under  a  representative  government,  was  an  indispensable 
condition.  Mademoiselle  de  Fontaine  had  an  ideal  standard 
which  was  to  be  the  model.  A  young  man  who  at  the  first 
glance  did  not  fulfil  the  requisite  conditions  did  not  even  get 
a  second  look. 

"Good  Heavens !  see  how  fat  he  is !"  was  with  her  the  ut- 
most expression  of  contempt. 

To  hear  her,  people  of  respectable  corpulence  were  inca- 
pable of  sentiment,  bad  husbands,  and  unfit  for  civilized  so- 
ciety. Though  it  is  esteemed  a  beauty  in  the  East,  to  be 
fat  seemed  to  her  a  misfortune  for  a  woman;  but  in  a  man 
it  was  a  crime.  These  paradoxical  views  were  amusing, 
thanks  to  a  certain  liveliness  of  rhetoric.  The  Count  felt 
nevertheless  that  by-and-by  his  daughter's  affections,  of  which 
the  absurdity  would  be  evident  to  some  women  who  were  not 


THE  BALL  AT  SCEAUX 


77 


less  clear-sighted  than  merciless,  would  inevitably  become  a 
subject  of  constant  ridicule.  lie  feared  lest  her  eccentric 
notions  should  deviate  into  bad  style.  He  trembled  to  think 
that  the  pitiless  world  might  already  be  laughing  at  a  young 
woman  who  remained  so  long  on  the  stage  without  arriving 
at  any  conclusion  of  the  drama  she  was  playing.  More  than 
one  actor  in  it,  disgusted  by  a  refusal,  seemed  to  be  waiting 
for  the  slightest  turn  of  ill-luck  to  take  his  revenge.  The  in- 
different, the  lookers-on  were  beginning  to  weary  of  it;  ad- 
miration is  always  exhausting  to  human  beings.  The  old 
Vendeen  knew  better  than  any  one  that  if  there  is  an  art 
in  choosing  the  right  moment  for  coming  forward  on  the 
boards  of  the  world,  on  those  of  the  Court,  in  a  drawing-room 
or  on  the  stage,  it  is  still  more  difficult  to  quit  them  in  the 
nick  of  time.  So  during  the  first  winter  after  the  accession 
of  Charles  X.,  he  redoubled  his  efforts,  seconded  by  his  three 
sons  and  his  sons-in-law,  to  assemble  in  the  rooms  of  his 
official  residence  the  best  matches  which  Paris  and  the  various 
deputations  from  departments  could  offer.  The  splendor  of 
his  entertainments,  the  luxury  of  his  dining-room,  and  his 
dinners,  fragrant  with  truffies,  rivaled  the  famous  banquets 
by  which  the  ministers  of  that  time  secured  the  vote  of  their 
parliamentary  recruits. 

The  Honorable  Deputy  was  consequently  pointed  at  as  a 
most  influential  corrupter  of  the  legislative  honesty  of  the  il- 
lustrious Chamber  that  was  dying  as  it  would  seem  of  indiges- 
tion. A  whimsical  result !  his  efforts  to  get  his  daughter  mar- 
ried secured  him  a  splendid  popularity.  He  perhaps  found 
some  covert  advantage  in  selling  his  truffies  twice  over.  This 
a^ccusation,  started  by  certain  mocking  Liberals,  who  made 
up  by  their  flov/  of  words  for  their  small  following  in  the 
Chamber,  was  not  a  success.  The  Poitevin  gentleman  had 
always  been  so  noble  and  so  honorable,  that  he  was  not  once 
the  object  of  those  epigrams  which  the  malicious  journalism 
of  the  day  hurled  at  the  three  hundred  votes  of  the  centre, 
at  the  Ministers,  the  cooks,  the  Directors-General,  the  princely 
Amphitryons,  and  the  official  supporters  of  the  Yiliele  Min- 
istry. 


78 


THE  BALL  AT  SCBAUX 


At  the  close  of  this  campaign,  during  which  Monsieur  de 
Fontaine  had  on  several  occasions  brought  out  all  his  forces, 
he  believed  that  this  time  the  procession  of  suitors  would  not 
be  a  mere  dissolving  view  in  his  daughter's  eyes ;  that  it  was 
time  she  should  make  up  her  mind.  He  felt  a  certain  in- 
ward satisfaction  at  having  well  fulfilled  his  duty  as  a  father. 
And  having  left  no  stone  unturned,  he  hoped  that,  among 
so  many  hearts  laid  at  Emilie's  feet,  there  might  be  one 
to  which  her  caprice  might  give  a  preference.  Incapable  of 
repeating  such  an  effort,  and  tired,  too,  of  his  daughter's 
conduct,  one  morning,  towards  the  end  of  Lent,  when  the 
business  at  the  Chamber  did  not  demand  his  vote,  he  deter- 
mined to  ask  what  her  views  were.  While  his  valet  was  ar- 
tistically decorating  his  bald  yellow  head  with  the  delta  of 
powder  which,  with  the  hanging  ''ailes  de  pigeon/'  completed 
his  venerable  style  of  hairdressing,  Emilie's  father,  not  with- 
out some  secret  misgivings,  told  his  old  servant  to  go  and 
desire  the  haughty  damsel  to  appear  in  the  presence  of  the 
head  of  the  family. 

Joseph,"  he  added,  when  his  hair  was  dressed,  "take 
away  that  towel,  draw  back  the  curtains,  put  those  chairs 
square,  shake  the  rug,  and  lay  it  quite  straight.  Dust  every- 
thing.— Now,  air  the  room  a  little  by  opening  the  window." 

The  Count  multiplied  his  orders,  putting  Joseph  out  of 
breath,  and  the  old  servant,  understanding  his  master's  in- 
tentions, aired  and  tidied  the  room,  of  course  the  least  cared 
for  of  any  in  the  house,  and  succeeded  in  giving  a  look  of 
harmony  to  the  files  of  bills,  the  letter-boxes,  the  books  and 
furniture  of  this  sanctum,  where  the  interests  of  the  royal 
demesnes  were  debated  over.  When  Joseph  had  reduced  this 
chaos  to  some  sort  of  order,  and  brought  to  the  front  such 
things  as  might  be  most  pleasing  to  the  eye,  as  if  it  were  ? 
shop  front,  or  such  as  by  their  color  might  give  the  effect 
of  a  kind  of  official  poetry,  he  stood  for  a  minute  in  the 
midst  of  the  labyrinth  of  papers  piled  in  some  places  even  on 
the  fioor,  admired  his  handiwork,  jerked  his  head,  and  went. 

The  anxious  sinecure-holder  did  not  share  his  retainer's 


THE  BALL  AT  SCBAUX 


79 


favorable  opinion.  Before  seating  himself  in  his  deep  chair, 
whose  rounded  back  screened  him  from  draughts,  he  looked 
round  him  doubtfully,  examined  his  dressing-gown  with  a 
hostile  expression,  shook  off  a  few  grains  of  snuff,  carefully 
wiped  his  nose,  arranged  the  tongs  and  shovel,  made  the  fire, 
pulled  up  the  heels  of  his  slippers,  pulled  out  his  little  queue 
of  hair  which  had  lodged  horizontally  between  the  collar  of 
his  waistcoat  and  that  of  his  dressing-gown,  restoring  it  to 
its  perpendicular  position;  then  he  swept  up  the  ashes  of 
the  hearth,  which  bore  witness  to  a  persistent  catarrh. 
Finally,  the  old  man  did  not  settle  himself  till  he  had  once 
more  looked  all  over  the  room,  hoping  that  nothing  could 
give  occasion  to  the  saucy  and  impertinent  remarks  with 
which  his  daughter  was  apt  to  answer  his  good  advice.  On 
this  occasion  he  was  anxious  not  to  compromise  his  dignity 
as  a  father.  He  daintily  took  a  pinch  oi  snuff,  cleared  his 
throat  two  or  three  times,  as  if  he  were  about  to  demand  a 
count  out  of  the  House;  then  he  heard  his  daughter's  light 
step,  and  she  came  in  humming  an  air  from  II  Barhiere. 

"Good-morning,  papa.  What  do  you  want  with  me  so 
early?"  Having  sung  these  words,  as  though  they  were  the 
refrain  of  the  melody,  she  kissed  the  Count,  not  with  the 
familiar  tenderness  which  makes  a  daughter's  love  so  sweet 
a  thing,  but  with  the  light  carelessness  of  a  mistress  confident 
of  pleasing,  whatever  she  may  do. 

"My  dear  child/^  said  Monsieur  de  Fontaine,  gravely,  "I. 
sent  for  you  to  talk  to  you  very  seriously  about  your  future 
prospects.  You  are  at  this  moment  under  the  necessity  of 
making  such  a  choice  of  a  husband  as  may  secure  you  durable 
happiness  " 

"My  good  father,"  replied  Emilie,  assuming  her  most  coax- 
ing tone  of  voice  to  interrupt  him,  "it  strikes  me  that  the 
armistice  on  which  we  agreed  as  to  my  suitors  is  not  yet  ex- 
pired." 

"Emilie,  we  must  to-day  forbear  from  jesting  on  so  impor- 
tant a  matter.  For  some  time  past  the  efforts  of  those  who 
most  truly  love  you,  my  dt;ar  child,  have  been  concentrated 


80 


THE  BALL  AT  SCEAUX 


on  the  endeavor  to  settle  you  suitably;  and  you  would  be 
guilty  of  ingratitude  in  meeting  with  levity  those  proofs  of 
kindness  which  I  am  not  alone  in  lavishing  on  you." 

As  she  heard  these  words,  after  flashing  a  mischievously 
inquisitive  look  at  the  furniture  of  her  father's  study,  the 
young  girl  brought  forward  the  armchair  which  looked  as 
if  it  had  been  least  used  by  petitioners,  set  it  at  the  side  of 
the  fireplace  so  as  to  sit  facing  her  father,  and  settled  herself 
in  so  solemn  an  attitude  that  it  was  impossible  not  to  read 
in  it  a  mocking  intention,  crossing  her  arms  over  the  dainty 
trimmings  of  a  pelerine  a  la  neige,  and  ruthlessly  crushing  its 
endless  frills  of  white  tulle.  After  a  laughing  side  glance  at 
her  old  father's  troubled  face,  she  broke  silence. 

"I  never  heard  you  say,  my  dear  father,  that  the  Govern- 
ment issued  its  instructions  in  its  dressing-gown.  However," 
and  she  smiled,  "that  does  not  matter ;  the  mob  are  probably 
not  particular,  l^ow,  what  are  your  proposals  for  legislation, 
and  your  official  introductions  ?" 

"I  shall  not  always  be  able  to  make  them,  headstrong  girl ! 
— Listen,  Emilie.  It  is  my  intention  no  longer  to  compromise 
my  reputation,  which  is  part  of  my  children's  fortune,  b}' 
recruiting  the  regiment  of  dancers  which,  spring  after  spring, 
you  put  to  rout.  You  have  already  been  the  cause  of  many 
dangerous  misunderstandings  with  certain  families.  I  hope 
to  make  you  perceive  more  truly  the  difficulties  of  your  posi- 
tion and  of  ours.  You  are  two-and-twenty,  my  dear  child, 
and  you  ought  to  have  been  married  nearly  three  years  since. 
Your  brothers  and  your  two  sisters  are  richly  and  happily 
provided  for.  But,  my  dear,  the  expenses  occasioned  by  these 
marriages,  and  the  style  of  housekeeping  you  require  of  your 
mother,  have  made  such  inroads  on  our  income  that  I  can 
hardly  promise  you  a  hundred  thousand  francs  as  a  marrini^e 
portion.  From  this  day  forth  I  shall  think  only  of  providina 
for  your  mother,  who  must  not  be  sacrificed  to  her  children. 
Emilie,  if  I  were  to  be  taken  from  my  family^  Madame  do 
Fontaine  could  not  be  left  at  anybody's  mercy,  and  ought  to 
enjoy  the  affluence  which  I  have  given  her  too  late  as  the 


THE  BALL  AT  SCEAUX 


81 


reward  of  her  devotion  in  my  misfortunes.  You  see,  my 
child,  that  the  amount  of  your  fortune  bears  no  relation  to 
your  notions  of  grandeur.  Even  that  would  be  such  a  sacrifice 
as  I  have  not  hitherto  made  for  either  of  my  children;  but 
they  have  generously  agreed  not  to  expect  in  the  future  any 
compensation  for  the  advantage  thus  given  to  a  too  favored 
child." 

"In  their  position !"  said  Emilie,  with  an  ironical  toss  of 
her  head. 

"My  dear,  do  not  so  depreciate  those  who  love  you.  Only 
the  poor  are  generous  as  a  rule ;  the  rich  have  always  excellent 
reasons  for  not  handing  over  twenty  thousand  francs  to  a 
relation.  Come,  my  child,  do  not  pout,  let  us  talk  rationally. 
— Among  the  young  marrying  men  have  you  noticed  Mon- 
sieur de  Manerville  ?" 

"Oh,  he  minces  his  words — he  says  Zules  instead  of  J ules ; 
he  is  always  looking  at  his  feet,  because  he  thinks  them  small, 
and  he  gazes  at  himself  in  the  glass !  Besides,  he  is  fair.  I 
don't  like  fair  men." 

"Well,  then.  Monsieur  de  Beaudenord 

"He  is  not  noble !  he  is  ill  made  and  stout.  He  is  dark, 
it  is  true. — If  the  two  gentlemen  could  agree  to  combine  their 
fortunes,  and  the  first  would  give  his  name  and  his  figure  to 
the  second,  who  should  keep  his  dark  hair,  then — per- 
haps " 

"What  can  you  say  against  Monsieur  de  Eastignac?" 

"Madame  de  Nucingen  has  made  a  banker  of  him,"  she  said 
with  meaning. 

"And  our  cousin,  the  Yicomte  de  Portendnere  ?" 

"A  mere  boy,  who  dances  badly ;  besides,  he  has  no  fortune 
And,  after  all,  papa,  none  of  these  people  have  titles,  I  want, 
at  least,  to  be  a  countess  like  my  mother," 

"Have  you  seen  no  one,  then,  this  winter—?'^ 

"No,  papa." 

"What  then  do  you  want?" 
"The  son  of  a  peer  of  France/' 


82 


•THE  BALL  AT  SCBAUX 


"My  dear  girl,  you  are  mad !"  said  Monsieur  de  Fontaine, 
rising. 

But  he  suddenly  lifted  his  eyes  to  heaven,  and  seemed  to 
find  a  fresh  fount  of  resignation  in  some  religious  thought; 
then,  with  a  look  of  fatherly  pity  at  his  daughter,  who  herself 
was  moved,  he  took  her  hand,  pressed  it,  and  said  with  deep 
feeling:  "God  is  my  witness,  poor  mistaken  child,  I  have 
conscientiously  discharged  my  duty  to  you  as  a  father — con- 
scientiously, do  I  say  ?  Most  lovingly,  my  Emilie.  Yes,  God 
knows !  This  winter  I  have  brought  before  you  more  than 
one  good  man,  whose  character,  whose  habits,  and  whose 
1;emper  were  known  to  me,  and  all  seemed  worthy  of  you. 
My  child,  my  task  is  done.  From  this  day  forth  you  are  the 
arbiter  of  your  fate,  and  I  consider  myself  both  happy  and 
unhappy  at  finding  myself  relieved  of  the  heaviest  of  paternal 
functions.  I  know  not  whether  you  will  for  any  long  time, 
now,  hear  a  voice  which,  to  you,  has  never  been  stern;  but 
remember  that  conjugal  happiness  does  not  rest  so  much  on 
brilliant  qualities  and  ample  fortune  as  on  reciprocal  es- 
teem. This  happiness  is,  in  its  nature,  modest,  and  devoid 
of  show.  So  now,  m}^  dear,  my  consent  is  given  beforehand, 
whoever  the  son-in-law  may  be  whom  you  introduce  to  me; 
but  if  you  should  be  unhappy,  remember  you  will  have  no 
right  to  accuse  your  father.  I  shall  not  refuse  to  take  proper 
steps  and  help  you,  only  your  choice  must  be  serious  and 
final.  I  will  never  twice  compromise  the  respect  due  to  my 
white  hairs." 

The  affection  thus  expressed  by  her  father,  the  solemn  tones 
of  his  urgent  address,  deeply  touched  Mademoiselle  de  Fon- 
taine; but  she  concealed  her  emotion,  seated  herself  on  her 
father's  knees — for  he  had  dropped  all  tremulous  into  his 
chair  again — caressed  him  fondly,  and  coaxed  him  so  en- 
gagingly that  the  old  man's  brow  cleared.  As  soon  as  Emilie 
thought  that  her  father  had  got  over  his  painful  agitation, 
she  said  in  a  gentle  voice :  "I  have  to  thank  you  for  jour 
graceful  attention,  my  dear  father.  You  have  had  your  room 
8et  in  order  to  receive  your  beloved  daughter.   You  did  not 


THE.  BALL  AT  SCEAUX 


83 


perhaps  know  that  you  would  find  her  so  foolish  and  so  head- 
strong. But,  papa.,  is  it  so  difficult  to  get  married  to  a  peer 
of  France?  You  declared  that  they  were  manufactured  by 
dozens.   At  least,  you  will  not  refuse  to  advise  me." 

"No,  my  poor  child,  no; — and  more  than  once  I  may  have 
occasion  to  cry,  ^Beware  !^  Remember  that  the  making  of 
peers  is  so  recent  a  force  in  our  government  machinery  that 
the}/  have  no  great  fortunes.  Those  who  are  rich  look  to 
becoming  richer.  The  wealthiest  member  of  our  peerage  has 
not  half  the  income  of  the  least  rich  lord  in  the  English 
Upper  Chamber.  Thus  all  the  French  peers  are  on  the 
lookout  for  great  heiresses  for  their  sons,  wherever  they  may 
meet  with  them.  The  necessity  in  which  they  find  them- 
selves of  marrying  for  money  will  certainly  exist  for  at  least 
two  centuries. 

"Pending  such  a  fortunate  accident  as  you  long  for — and 
this  fastidiousness  may  cost  you  the  best  years  of  your  life— 
your  attractions  might  work  a  miracle,  for  men  often  marry 
for  love  in  these  days.  When  experience  lurks  behind  so 
sweet  a  face  as  yours  it  may  achieve  wonders.  In  the  first 
place,  have  you  not  the  gift  of  recognizing  virtue  in  the 
greater  or  smaller  dimensions  of  a  man's  body?  This  is  no 
small  matter !  To  so  wise  a  young  person  as  you  are,  I  need  not 
enlarge  on  all  the  difficulties  of  the  enterprise.  I  am  sure 
that  you  would  never  attribute  good  sense  to  a  stranger  be- 
cause he  had  a  handsome  face,  or  all  the  virtues  because 
he  had  a  fine  figure.  And  I  am  quite  of  your  mind  in 
thinking  that  the  sons  of  peers  ought  to  have  an  air  peculiar 
to  themselves,  and  perfectly  distinctive  manners.  Though 
nowadays  no  external  sign  stamps  a  man  of  rank,  those  young 
men  will  have,  perhaps,  to  you  the  indefinable  something 
that  will  reveal  it.  Then,  again,  you  have  your  heart  well 
in  hand,  like  a  good  horseman  who  is  sure  his  steed  cannot 
bolt.    Luck  be  with  you,  my  dear!" 

"You  are  making  game  of  me,  papa.  Well,  I  assure  you 
that  I  would  rather  die  in  Mademoiselle  de  Conde's  convent 
than  not  be  the  wife  of  a  peer  of  France." 


THE  BALL  AT  SCEAUX 


She  slipped  out  of  her  father's  arms,  and,  proud  of  being 
her  own  mistress,  went  off  singing  the  air  of  Cara  non  du- 
hitare,  in  the  "Matrimonio  Segreto." 

As  it  happened,  the  family  were  that  day  keeping  the 
anniversary  of  a  family  fete.  At  dessert,  Madame  Planat, 
the  Eeceiver-General's  wife,  spoke  with  some  enthusiasm  of 
a  young  American  owning  an  immense  fortune,  who  had 
fallen  passionately  in  love  with  her  sister,  and  made  through 
her  the  most  splendid  proposals. 

^'^A  banker,  I  rather  think,"  observed  Emilie  carelesslyo 
^^I  do  not  like  money  dealers." 

'^But,  Emilie,"  replied  the  Baron  de  Yillaine,  the  husband 
of  the  Count's  second  daughter,  "you  do  not  like  lawyers 
either;  so  that  if  you  refuse  men  of  wealth  who  have  not 
titles,  I  do  not  quite  see  in  what  class  you  are  to  choose  a 
husband." 

"Especially,  Emilie,  with  your  standard  of  slimness,"  added 
the  Lieutenant-General. 

"I  know  what  I  want,"  replied  the  young  lady. 

"My  sister  wants  a  fine  name,  a  fine  young  man,  fine  pros- 
pects, and  a  hundred  thousand  francs  a  year,"  said  the 
Baronne  de  Fontaine.    "Monsieur  de  Marsay,  for  instance." 

"I  know,  my  dear,"  retorted  Emilie,  "that  I  do  not  mean 
to  make  such  a  foolish  marriage  as  some  I  have  seen.  More- 
over, to  put  an  end  to  these  matrimonial  discussions,  I  hereby 
declare  that  I  shall  look  on  anyone  who  talks  to  me  of  mar- 
riage as  a  foe  to  my  peace  of  mind." 

An  uncle  of  Emilie's,  a  vice-admiral,  whose  fortune  had 
just  been  increased  by  twenty  thousand  francs  a  year  in  con- 
sequence of  the  Act  of  Indemnity,  and  a  man  of  seventy, 
feeling  himself  privileged  to  say  hard  things  to  his  grand- 
niece,  on  whom  he  doted,  in  order  to  mollify  the  bitter  tone 
of  the  discussion  now  exclaimed: 

'  "Do  not  tease  my  poor  little  Emilie;  don't  you  see  she  is 
waiting  till  the  Due  de  Bordeaux  comes  of  age !" 

The  old  man's  pleasantry  was  received  with  general 
laughter. 


THE  BAIJ.  AT  SCEAUX 


85 


"Take  care  I  don't  marry  you,  old  fool replied  the 
young  girl,  whose  last  words  were  happily  drowned  in  the 
noise. 

"My  dear  children,"  said  Madame  de  Fontaine,  to  soften 
this  saucy  retort,  "Emilie,  like  you,  will  take  no  advice  but 
her  mother's." 

"Bless  me !  I  shall  take  no  advice  but  my  own  in  a  matter 
which  concerns  no  one  but  myself,"  said  Mademoiselle  de 
Fontaine  very  distinctly. 

At  this  all  eyes  were  turned  to  the  head  of  the  family. 
Every  one  seemed  anxious  as  to  what  he  would  do  to  assert 
his  dignity.  The  venerable  gentleman  enjoyed  much  consid- 
eration, not  only  in  the  world;  happier  than  many  fathers, 
he  was  also  appreciated  by  his  family,  all  its  members  having 
a  just  esteem  for  the  solid  qualities  by  which  he  had  been 
able  to  make  their  fortunes.  Hence  he  was  treated  with  the 
deep  respect  which  is  shown  by  English  families,  and  some 
aristocratic  houses  on  the  continent,  to  the  living  representa- 
tive of  an  ancient  pedigree.  Deep  silence  had  fallen;  and 
the  guests  looked  alternately  from  the  spoilt  girl's  proud  and 
sulky  pout  to  the  severe  faces  of  Monsieur  and  Madame  de 
Fontaine. 

"I  have  made  my  daughter  Emilie  mistress  of  her  own 
fate,"  was  the  reply  spoken  by  the  Count  in  a  deep  voice. 

Eelations  and  guests  gazed  at  Mademoiselle  de  Fontaine 
with  mingled  curiosity  and  pity.  The  words  seemed  to  de- 
clare that  fatherly  affection  was  weary  of  the  contest  with  a 
character  that  the  whole  family  knew  to  be  incorrigible.  The 
sons-in-law  muttered,  and  the  brothers  glanced  at  their  wives 
with  mocking  smiles.  From  that  moment  every  one  ceased 
to  take  any  interest  in  the  haughty  girl's  prospects  of  mar- 
riage. Her  old  uncle  was  the  only  person  who,  as  an  old 
sailor,  ventured  to  stand  on  her  tack,  and  take  her  broadsides, 
without  ever  troubling  himself  to  return  her  fire. 

When  the  fine  weather  was  settled,  and  after  the  budget 
was  voted,  the  whole  family — a  perfect  example  of  the  par- 
liamentary families  on  the  northern  side  of  the  Channel  who 


86 


THE  BALL  AT  SCEAUX 


have  a  footing  in  every  government  department,  and  ten 
votes  in  the  House  of  Commons — flew  away  like  a  brood  of 
young  birds  to  the  charming  neighborhoods  of  Aulnay,  An- 
tony, and  Chatenay.  The  wealthy  Receiver-General  had  lately 
purchased  in  this  part  of  the  world  a  country-house  for  his 
wife,  who  remained  in  Paris  only  during  the  session.  Though 
the  fair  Emilie  despised  the  commonalty,  her  feeling  was 
not  carried  so  far  as  to  scorn  the  advantages  of  a  fortune  ac- 
quired in  a  profession;  so  she  accompanied  her  sister  to  the 
sumptuous  villa,  less  out  of  affection  for  the  members  of  her 
family  who  were  visiting  there,  than  because  fashion  has  or- 
dained that  every  woman  who  has  any  self-respect  must  leave 
Paris  in  the  summer.  The  green  seclusion  of  Sceaux  an- 
swered to  perfection  the  requirements  of  good  style  and  of 
the  duties  of  an  official  position. 

As  it  is  extremely  doubtful  that  the  fame  of  the  '^Bal  de 
Sceaux"  should  ever  have  extended  beyond  the  borders  of 
the  Department  of  the  Seine,  it  will  be  necessary  to  give 
some  account  of  this  weekly  festivity,  which  at  that  time  was 
important  enough  to  threaten  to  become  an  institution.  The 
environs  of  the  little  town  of  Sceaux  enjoy  a  reputation  due 
to  the  scenery,  which  is  considered  enchanting.  Perhaps  it 
is  quite  ordinar}^  and  owes  its  fame  only  to  the  stupidity 
of  the  Paris  townsfolk,  who,  emerging  from  the  stony  abyss 
in  which  they  are  buried,  would  find  something  to  admire 
in  ihe  flats  of  La  Beauce.  However,  as  the  poetic  shades 
of  Aulnay,  the  hillsides  of  Antony,  and  the  valley  of  the 
Bieve  are  peopled  with  artists  who  have  traveled  far,  by  for- 
eigners who  are  very  hard  to  please,  and  by  a  great  many 
pretty  women  not  devoid  of  taste,  it  is  to  be  supposed  that 
the  Parisians  are  right.  But  Sceaux  possesses  another  attrac- 
tion not  less  powerful  to  the  Parisian.  In  the  midst  of  a 
garden  whence  there  are  delightful  views,  stands  a  large  ro- 
tunda open  on  all  sides,  with  a  light,  spreading  roof  sup- 
ported on  elegant  pillars.  This  rural  baldachino  shelters  a 
dancing-floor.  The  most  stuck-up  landowners  of  the  neigh- 
borhood rarely  fail  to  make  an  excursion  thither  once  or 


THE  BALL  AT  SCEAUX 


87 


twice  during  the  season,  arriving  at  this  rustic  palace  jf 
Terpsichore  either  in  dashing  parties  on  horseback,  or  In 
the  light  and  elegant  carriages  which  powder  the  philosoph- 
ical pedestrian  with  dust.  The  hope  of  meeting  some  women 
of  fashion,  and  of  being  seen  by  them — and  the  hope,  less 
often  disappointed,  of  seeing  young  peasant  girls,  as  wily  aa 
judges — crowds  the  ballroom  at  Sceaux  with  numerous 
swarms  of  lawyers'  clerks,  of  the  disciples  of  ^sculapius,  and 
other  youths  whose  complexions  are  kept  pale  and  moist 
by  the  damp  atmosphere  of  Paris  back-shops.  And  a  good 
many  bourgeois  marriages  have  had  their  beginning  to  the 
sound  of  the  band  occupying  the  centre  of  this  circular  ball- 
room. If  that  roof  could  speak,  what  love-stories  could  it 
not  tell ! 

This  interesting  medley  gave  the  Sceaux  balls  at  that  time 
a  spice  of  more  amusement  than  those  of  two  or  three  places 
of  the  same  kind  near  Paris ;  and  it  had  incontestable  advan- 
tages in  its  rotunda,  and  the  beauty  of  its  situation  and  its 
gardens.  Emilie  was  the  first  to  express  a  wish  to  play  at 
being  common  folk  at  this  gleeful  suburban  entertainment, 
and  promised  herself  immense  pleasure  in  mingling  with  the 
crowd.  Everybody  wondered  at  her  desire  to  wander  through 
such  a  mob;  but  is  there  not  a  keen  pleasure  to  grand  people 
in  an  incognito?  Mademoiselle  de  Fontaine  amused  herself 
with  imagining  all  these  town-bred  figures;  she  fancied  her- 
self leaving  the  memory  of  a  bewitching  glance  and  smile 
stamped  on  more  than  one  shopkeeper's  heart,  laughed  before- 
hand at  the  damsels'  airs,  and  sharpened  her  pencils  for  the 
scenes  she  proposed  to  sketch  in  her  satirical  album.  Sun- 
day could  not  come  soon  enough  to  satisfy  her  impatience. 

The  party  from  the  Villa  Planat  set  out  on  foot,  so  as  not 
to  betray  the  rank  of  the  personages  who  were  about  to  honor 
the  ball  with  their  presence.  They  dined  early.  And  the  month 
of  May  humored  this  aristocratic  escapade  by  one  of  its  finest 
evenings.  Mademoiselle  de  Fontaine  was  quite  surprised 
to  find  in  the  rotunda  some  quadrilles  made  up  of  persons 
who  seemed  to  belong  to  the  upper  classes.    Here  and  there. 


88 


THE  BAI  L  AT  SCEAUX 


indeed,  were  some  young  men  who  look  as  thongh  they  must 
have  saved  for  a  month  to  shine  for  a  day;  and  she  perceived 
several  couples  whose  too  hearty  glee  suggested  nothing  con- 
jugal; still,  she  could  only  glean  instead  of  gathering  a 
harvest.  She  was  amazed  to  see  that  pleasure  in  a  cotton 
dress  was  so  very  like  pleasure  rohed  in  satin,  and  that  the 
girls  of  the  middle  class  danced  quite  as  well  as  ladies — nay, 
sometimes  better.  Most  of  the  women  were  simply  and  suit- 
ably dressed.  Those  who  in  this  assembly  represented  the 
ruling  power,  that  is  to  say,  the  country-folk,  kept  apart  with 
wonderful  politeness.  In  fact,  Mademoiselle  Emilie  had  to 
study  the  various  elements  that  composed  the  mixture  before 
i^he  could  find  any  subject  for  pleasantry.  But  she  had  not 
time  to  give  herself  up  to  malicious  criticism,  nor  opportunity 
for  hearing  many  of  the  startling  speeches  which  caricaturists 
<50  gladly  pick  up.  The  haughty  young  lady  suddenly  found 
a  flower  in  this  wide  field — the  metaphor  is  reasonable 
— whose  splendor  and  coloring  worked  on  her  imagination 
with  all  the  fascination  of  novelty.  It  often  happens  that 
we  look  at  a  dress,  a  hanging,  a  blank  sheet  of  paper,  with 
so  little  heed  that  we  do  not  at  first  detect  a  stain  or  a  bright 
spot  which  afterwards  strikes  the  eye  as  though  it  had  come 
there  at  the  very  instant  when  we  see  it;  and  by  a  sort  of 
moral  phenomenon  somewhat  resembling  this,  Mademoiselle 
de  Fontaine  discovered  in  a  young  man  the  external  perfec- 
tions of  which  she  had  so  long  dreamed. 

Seated  on  one  of  the  clumsy  chairs  which  marked  the 
boundary  line  of  the  circular  floor,  she  had  placed  herself  at 
the  end  of  the  row  formed  by  the  family  party,  so  as  to  be 
able  to  stand  up  or  push  forward  as  her  fancy  moved  her, 
treating  the  living  pictures  and  groups  in  the  hall  as  if  she 
were  in  a  picture  gallery;  impertinently  turning  her  eye- 
glass on  persons  not  two  yards  away,  and  making  her  remarks 
as  though  she  were  criticising  or  praising  a  study  of  a  head, 
a  painting  of  genre.  Her  eyes,  after  wandering  over  the  vast 
moving  picture,  were  suddenly  caught  by  this  figure,  which 
seemed  to  have  been  placed  on  purpose  in  one  corner  of  the 


THE  BALL  AT  SCIJAUX 


89 


canvas,  and  in  the  best  light,  like  a  person  out  of  all  propor- 
tiou  with  the  rest. 

The  stranger,  alone  and  absorbed  in  thought,  leaned 
lightly  against  one  of  the  columns  that  supported  the  roof; 
his  arms  were  folded,  and  he  leaned  slightly  on  one  side 
as  though  he  had  placed  himself  there  to  have  his  portrait 
taken  by  a  painter.  His  attitude,  though  full  of  elegance  and 
dignity,  was  devoid  of  affectation.  Nothing  suggested  that 
he  had  half  turned  his  head,  and  bent  it  a  little  to  the  right 
like  Alexander,  or  Lord  Byron,  and  some  other  great  men, 
for  the  sole  purpose  of  attracting  attention.  His  fixed  gaze 
followed  a  girl  who  was  dancing,  and  betrayed  some  strong 
feeling.  His  slender,  easy  frame  recalled  the  noble  propor- 
tions of  the  Apollo.  Fine  black  hair  curled  naturally  over 
a  high  forehead.  At  a  glance  Mademoiselle  de  Fontaine  ob- 
served that  his  linen  was  fine,  his  gloves  fresh,  and  evidently 
bought  of  a  good  maker,  and  his  feet  small  and  well  shod 
in  boots  of  Irish  kid.  He  had  none  of  the  vulgar  trinkets 
displayed  by  the  dandies  of  the  National  Guard  or  the  Love- 
laces of  the  counting-house.  A  black  ribbon,  to  which  am 
eye-glass  was  attached,  hung  over  a  waistcoat  of  the  most 
fashionable  cut.  Never  had  the  fastidious  Emilie  seen  a 
man's  eyes  shaded  by  such  long,  curled  lashes.  Melanchohi' 
and  passion  were  expressed  in  this  face,  and  the  complexioi< 
was  of  a  manly  olive  hue.  His  mouth  seemed  ready  to  smile, 
unbending  the  corners  of  eloquent  lips;  but  this,  far  from 
hinting  at  gaiety,  revealed  on  the  contrary  a  sort  of  patheti'? 
grace.  There  was  too  much  promise  in  that  head,  too  much 
distinction  in  his  whole  person,  to  allow  of  one's  saying, 
"What  a  handsome  man!"  or  "What  a  fine  man!"  Onf: 
wanted  to  know  him.  The  most  clear-sighted  observer,  on 
seeing  this  stranger,  could  not  have  helped  taking  him  for  a 
'clever  man  attracted  to  this  rural  festivity  by  some  powerful 
motive. 

All  these  observations  cost  Emilie  only  a  minute's  atten- 
tion, during  which  the  privileged  gentleman  under  her  severe 
scrutiny  became  the  object  of  her  secret  admiration.  She 


90 


THE  BALL  AT  SCEAUX 


did  not  say  to  herself,  "He  must  be  a  peer  of  France !"  but, 
"Oh,  if  only  he  is  noble,  and  he  surely  must  be  "  With- 
out finishing  her  thought,  she  suddenly  rose,  and  followed 
by  her  brother  the  General,  she  made  her  way  towards  the 
column,  affecting  to  watch  the  merry  quadrille;  but  by  a 
stratagem  of  the  eye,  familiar  to  women,  she  lost  not  a  gesture 
of  the  young  man  as  she  went  towards  him.  The  stranger 
politely  moved  to  make  way  for  the  newcomers,  and  went 
to  lean  against  another  pillar.  Emilie,  as  much  nettled  by 
his  politeness  as  she  might  have  been  by  an  impertinence, 
uegan  talking  to  her  brother  in  a  louder  voice  than  good 
'caste  enjoined;  she  turned  and  tossed  her  head,  gesticulated 
eagerly,  and  laughed  for  no  particular  reason,  less  to  amuse 
her  brother  than  to  attract  the  attention  of  the  imperturbable 
stranger.  None  of  her  little  arts  succeeded.  Mademoiselle 
de  Fontaine  then  followed  the  direction  in  which  his  eyes 
were  fixed,  and  discovered  the  cause  of  his  indifference. 

In  the  midst  of  the  quadrille,  close  in  front  of  them,  a 
pale  girl  was  dancing ;  her  face  was  like  one  of  the  divinities 
which  Girodet  has  introduced  into  his  immense  composition 
of  French  Warriors  received  by  Ossian.  Emilie  fancied  that 
she  recognized  her  as  a  distinguished  milady  who  for  some 
months  had  been  living  on  a  neighboring  estate.  Her  partner 
was  a  lad  of  about  fifteen,  with  red  hands,  and  dressed  in 
nanl^een  trousers,  a  blue  coat,  and  white  shoes,  which  showed 
that  the  damseFs  love  of  dancing  made  her  easy  to  please 
in  the  matter  of  partners.  Her  movements  did  not  betray 
her  apparent  delicacy,  but  a  faint  fiush  already  tinged  her 
white  cheeks,  and  her  complexion  was  gaining  color.  Made- 
moiselle de  Fontaine  went  nearer,  to  be  able  to  examine  the 
young  lady  at  the  moment  when  she  returned  to  her  place, 
while  the  side  couples  in  their  turn  danced  the  figure.  But 
the  stranger  went  up  to  the  pretty  dancer,  and  leaning  over, 
said  in  a  gentle  but  commanding  tone : 

"Clara,  my  child,  do  not  dance  any  more." 

Clara  made  a  little  pouting  face,  bent  her  head,  and  finally 
smiled.   When  the  dance  was  over,  the  young  man  wrapped 


THE  BALL  AT  SCEAUX 


91 


her  in  a  cashmere  shawl  with  a  lover's  care,  and  seated  her 
in  a  place  sheltered  from  the  wind.  Very  soon  Mademoiselle 
de  Fontaine,  seeing  them  rise  and  walk  round  the  place  as  if 
preparing  to  leave,  found  means  to  follow  them  under 
pretence  of  admiring  the  views  from  the  garden.  Her  brother 
lent  himself  with  malicious  good-humor  to  the  divagations 
of  her  rather  eccentric  wanderings.  Emilie  then  saw  the  at- 
tractive couple  get  into  an  elegant  tilbury,  by  which  stood 
a  mounted  groom  in  livery.  At  the  moment  when,  from  his 
high  seat,  the  young  man  was  drawing  the  reins  even,  she 
caught  a  glance  from  his  eye  such  as  a  man  casts  aimlessly 
at  the  crowd;  and  then  she  enjoyed  the  feeble  satisfaction 
of  seeing  him  twice  turn  his  head  to  look  at  her.  The  young 
lady  did  the  same.   Was  it  from  jealousy? 

imagine  you  have  now  seen  enough  of  the  garden," 
said  her  brother.    "We  may  go  back  to  the  dancing." 

"I  am  ready,"  said  she.  "Do  you  think  the  girl  can  be  a 
relation  of  Lady  Dudley's?" 

"Lady  Dudley  may  have  some  male  relation  staying  with 
her,"  said  the  Baron  de  Fontaine ;  "but  a  young  girl ! — !" 

Next  day  Mademoiselle  de  Fontaine  expressed  a  wish  to 
take  a  ride.  Then  she  gradually  accustomed  her  old  uncle 
and  her  brothers  to  escorting  her  in  very  early  rides,  excel- 
lent, she  declared,  for  her  health.  She  had  a  particular  tancy 
for  the  environs  of  the  hamlet  where  Lady  Dudley  was  living. 
Notwithstanding  her  cavalry  manoeuvres,  she  did  not  meet 
the  stranger  so  soon  as  the  eager  search  she  pursued  might 
have  allowed  her  to  hope.  She  went  several  times  to  the 
"Bal  de  Sceaux"  without  seeing  the  young  Englishman  who 
had  dropped  from  the  skies  to  pervade  and  beautify  her 
dreams.  Though  nothing  spurs  on  a  young  girl's  infant  pas- 
sion so  effectually  as  an  obstacle,  there  was  a  time  when  Made- 
moiselle de  Fontaine  was  on  the  point  of  giving  up  her 
strange  and  secret  search,  almost  despairing  of  the  success 
of  an  enterprise  whose  singularity  may  give  some  idea  of 
the  boldness  of  her  temper.  In  point  of  fact>  she  might  have 
wandered  long  about  the  village  of  Chatenay  wnhout  meeting 


92 


THE  BALL  AT  SCBAUX 


her  Unknown.  The  fair  Clara — since-  that  was  the  name 
Emilie  had  overheard — was  not  English,  and  the  stranger 
who  escorted  her  did  not  dwell  among  the  flowery  and  fra- 
grant bowers  of  Chatenay. 

One  evening  Emilie,  out  riding  with  her  nncle,  who,  during 
the  fine  weather,  had  gained  a  fairly  long  truce  from  the 
gout,  met  Lady  Dudley.  The  distinguished  foreigner  had 
with  her  in  her  open  carriage  Monsieur  Vandenesse.  Emilie 
recognized  the  handsome  couple,  and  her  suppositions  were 
at  once  dissipated  like  a  dream.  Annoyed,  as  any  woman 
must  be  whose  expectations  are  frustrated,  she  touched  up  her 
horse  so  suddenly  that  her  uncle  had  the  greatest  difficulty 
in  following  her,  she  had  set  off  at  such  a  pace. 

am  too  old,  it  would  seem,  to  understand  these  youthful 
spirits,"  said  the  old  sailor  to  himself  as  he  put  his  horse  to 
a  canter;  "or  perhaps  young  people  are  not  what  they  used 
to  be.  But  what  ails  my  niece?  Now  she  is  walking  at  a 
foot-pace  like  a  gendarme  on  patrol  in  the  Paris  streets.  One 
might  fancy  she  wanted  to  outflank  that  worthy  man,  who 
looks  to  me  like  an  author  dreaming  over  his  poetry,  for  he 
has,  I  think,  a  notebook  in  his  hand.  My  word,  I  am  a 
great  simpleton !  Is  not  that  the  very  young  man  we  are  in 
search  of !" 

At  this  idea  the  old  admiral  moderated  his  horse's  pace 
so  as  to  follow  his  niece  without  making  any  noise.  He  had 
played  too  many  pranks  in  the  years  1771  and  soon  after,  a 
time  of  our  history  when  gallantry  was  held  in  honor,  not 
to  guess  at  once  that  by  the  merest  chance  Emilie  had  met 
the  Unknown  of  the  Sceaux  gardens.  In  spite  of  the  film 
which  age  had  drawn  over  his  gray  eyes,  the  Comte  de  Kerga- 
rouet  could  recognize  the  signs  of  extreme  agitation  in  his 
niece,  under  the  unmoved  expression  she  tried  to  give  to  her 
features.  The  girl's  piercing  eyes  were  fixed  in  a  sort  of 
dull  amazement  on  the  stranger,  who  quietly  walked  on  in 
front  of  her. 

"Ay,  that's  it,"  thought  the  sailor.  "She  is  following  him 
as  a  pirate  follows  a  merchantman.   Then,  when  she  has  lost 


THE  BALL  AT  SCEAtTX 


sight  of  him,  she  will  be  in  despair  at  not  knowing  who  it  is 
she  is  in  love  with,  and  whether  he  is  a  marquis  or  a  shop- 
keeper. Eeally  these  young  heads  need  an  old  fogy  like  me 
always  by  their  side    .    .  P 

He  unexpectedly  spurred  his  horse  in  such  a  way  as  to 
make  his  niece's  bolt,  and  rode  so  hastily  between  her  and 
the  young  man  on  foot  that  he  obliged  hira  to  fall  back  on  to 
the  grassy  bank  which  rose  from  the  roadside.  Then, 
abruptly  drawing  up,  the  Count  exclaimed : 

"Couldn't  you  get  out  of  the  way  ?" 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  monsieur.  But  I  did  not  know  that 
it  lay  with  me  to  apologize  to  you  because  you  almost  rode 
me  down." 

"There,  enough  of  that,  my  good  fellow!"  replied  the 
sailor  harshly,  in  a  sneering  tone  that  was  nothing  less  than 
insulting.  At  the  same  time  the  Count  raised  his  hunting- 
crop  as  if  to  strike  his  horse,  and  touched  the  young  fellow's 
shoulder,  saying,  "A  liberal  citizen  is  a  reasoner;  every  rea- 
soner  should  be  prudent." 

The  young  man  went  up  the  bankside  as  he  heard  the 
sarcasm;  then  he  crossed  his  arms,  and  said  in  an  excited 
tone  of  voice,  "I  cannot  suppose,  monsieur,  as  I  look  at  your 
white  hairs,  that  you  still  amuse  yourself  by  provoking 
duels  " 

'^hite  hairs!"  cried  the  sailor,  interrupting  him.  "You 
lie  in  your  throat.   They  are  only  gray." 

A  quarrel  thus  begun  had  in  a  few  seconds  become  so  fierce 
that  the  younger  man  forgot  the  moderation  he  had  tried  to 
preserve.  Just  as  the  Comte  de  Kergarouet  saw  his  niece 
coming  back  to  them  with  every  sign  of  the  greatest  uneasi- 
ness, he  told  his  antagonist  his  name,  bidding  him  keep 
silence  before  the  young  lady  entrusted  to  his  care.  The 
stranger  could  not  help  smiling  as  he  gave  a  visiting  card 
to  the  old  man,  desiring  him  to  observe  that  he  was  living  in 
a  country-house  at  Chevreuse;  and,  after  pointing  this  out 
to  him,  he  humed  away. 

"You  very  nearly  damaged  that  poor  young  counter- 


d4 


THE  BALL  AT  SCEAUX 


jumper,  my  dear,"  said  the  Count,  advancing  hastily  to  meet 
Emilie.  "Do  you  not  know  how  to  hold  your  horse  in? — And 
there  you  leave  me  to  compromise  my  dignity  in  order  to 
screen  your  folly;  whereas  if  you  had  but  stopped,  one  of 
your  looks,  or  one  of  your  pretty  speeches — one  of  those  you 
can  make  so  prettily  when  you  are  not  pert^ — would  have  set 
everything  right,  even  if  you  had  broken  his  arm.'' 

"But,  my  dear  uncle,  it  was  your  horse,  not  mine,  that 
caused  the  accident.  I  really  think  you  can  no  longer  ride; 
you  are  not  so  good  a  horseman  as  you  were  last  year. — But 
instead  of  talking  nonsense  '' 

"Nonsense,  by  Gad!  Is  it  nothing  to  be  so  impertinent 
to  your  uncle?" 

"Ought  we  not  to  go  on  and  inquire  if  the  young  man  is 
hurt  ?  He  is  limping,  uncle,  only  look 

"No,  he  is  running;  I  rated  him  soundly." 

"Oh,  yes,  uncle ;  I  know  you  there 

"Stop,"  said  the  Count,  pulling  Emilie's  horse  by  the 
bridle,  "I  do  not  see  the  necessity  of  making  advances  to 
some  shopkeeper  who  is  only  too  lucky  to  have  been  thrown 
down  by  a  charming  young  lady,  or  the  commander  of  La 
Belle-PouUr 

"Why  do  you  think  he  is  anything  so  common,  my  dear 
uncle  ?   He  seems  to  me  to  have  very  fine  manners." 

"Every  one  has  manners  nowadays,  my  dear." 

"No,  uncle,  not  every  one  has  the  air  and  style  which 
come  of  the  habit  of  frequenting  drawing-rooms,  and  I  am 
ready  to  lay  a  bet  with  you  that  the  young  man  is  of  noble 
birth." 

"You  had  not  long  to  study  him." 

"No,  but  it  is  not  the  first  time  I  have  seen  him." 

"Nor  is  it  the  first  time  you  have  looked  for  him,"  replied 
the  admiral  with  a  laugh. 

Emilie  colored.  Her  uncle  amused  himself  for  some  time 
with  her  embarrassment;  then  he  said:  "Emilie,  you  know 
that  I  love  you  as  my  own  child,  precisely  because  you  are 
the  only  member  of  the  family  who  has  the  legitimate  pride 


THE  BALL  AT  SCEAUX 


95 


of  high  birth.  Devil  take  it,  child,  who  could  have  believed 
that  sound  principles  would  become  so  rare?  Well,  I  will 
be  your  confidant.  My  dear  child,  I  see  that  this  young 
gentleman  is  not  indifferent  to  you.  Hush !  All  the  family 
would  laugh  at  us  if  we  sailed  under  the  wrong  flag.  You 
know  what  that  means.  We  two  will  keep  our  secret,  and  I 
promise  to  bring  him  straight  into  the  drawing-room/' 

^'When,  uncle?" 
.  "To-morrow." 

"But,  my  dear  uncle,  I  am  not  committed  to  anything 

"Nothing  whatever,  and  you  may  bombard  him,  set  fire  to 
him,  and  leave  him  to  founder  like  an  old  hulk  if  you  choose. 
He  won't  be  the  first,  I  fancy  ?" 

"You  are  kind,  uncle  !" 

As  soon  as  the  Count  got  home  he  put  on  his  glasses, 
quietly  took  the  card  out  of  his  pocket,  and  read,  "Maxi- 
milien  Longueville,  Kue  du  Sentier." 

"Make  yourself  happy,  my  dear  niece,"  he  said  to  Emilie., 
"you  may  hook  him  with  an  easy  conscience;  he  belongs  to 
one  of  our  historical  families,  and  if  he  is  not  a  peer  of 
France,  he  infallibly  will  be." 

"How  do  you  know  so  much?" 

"That  is  my  secret." 

"Then  do  you  know  his  name?" 

The  old  man  bowed  his  gray  head,  which  was  not  unlike 
a  gnarled  oak-stump,  with  a  few  leaves  fluttering  about  it, 
withered  by  autumnal  frosts ;  and  his  niece  immediately  began 
to  try  the  ever-new  power  of  her  coquettish  arts.  Long 
familiar  with  the  secret  of  cajoling  the  old  man,  she  lav- 
ished on  him  the  most  childlike  caresses,  the  tenderest  names ; 
she  even  went  so  far  as  to  kiss  him  to  induce  him  to  di- 
vulge so  important  a  secret.  The  old  man,  who  spent  his 
life  in  playing  off  these  scenes  on  his  niece,  often  paying 
for  them  with  a  present  of  jewelry,  or  by  giving  her  his  box 
at  the  opera,  this  time  amused  himself  with  her  entreaties, 
and,  above  all,  her  caresses.  But  as  he  spun  out  this  pleasure 
too  long,  Emilie  grew  angry,  passed  from  coaxing  to  sar- 


96 


THE  BALL  AT  SCEAUX 


casm  and  sulks;  then,  urged  by  curiosity,  she  recovered  her- 
self. The  diplomatic  admiral  extracted  a  solemn  promise 
from  his  niece  that  she  would  for  the  future  he  gentler,  less 
noisy,  and  less  wilful,  that  she  would  spend  less,  and,  above 
ail,  tell  him  everything.  The  treaty  being  concluded,  and 
signed  b}''  a  kiss  impressed  on  Emilie's  white  brow,  he  led  her 
into  a  corner  of  the  room,  drew  her  on  to  his  knee,  held  the 
2ard  under  the  thumbs  so  as  to  hide  it,  and  then  uncovered  the 
letters  one  by  one,  spelling  the  name  of  Longueville;  but  he 
firmly  refused  to  show  her  anything  more. 

This  incident  added  to  the  intensity  of  Mademoiselle  de 
Fontaine^s  secret  sentiment,  and  during  chief  part  of  the 
night  she  evolved  the  most  brilMant  pictures  from  the  dreams 
with  which  she  had  fed  her  hopes.  At  last,  thanks  to  chance, 
to  which  she  had  so  often  appealed,  Emilie  could  now  see 
something  very  unlike  a  chimera  at  the  fountain-head  of  the 
imaginary  wealth  with  which  she  gilded  her  married  life. 
Ignorant,  as  all  young  girls  are,  of  the  perils  of  love  and 
marriage,  she  was  passionately  captivated  by  the  externals  of 
marriage  and  love.  Is  not  this  as  much  as  to  say  that  her 
feeling  had  birth  like  all  the  feelings  of  extreme  youth — 
sweet  but  cruel  mistakes,  which  exert  a  fatal  influence  on  the 
lives  of  yoiing  girls  so  inexperienced  as  to  trust  their  own 
judgment  to  take  care  of  their  future  happiness? 

Next  morning,  before  Emilie  was  awake,  her  uncle  had 
hastened  to  Chevreuse.  On  recognizing,  in  the  courtyard  of 
an  elegant  little  villa,  the  young  man  he  had  so  determinedly 
insulted  the  day  before,  he  went  up  to  him  with  the  press- 
ing politeness  of  men  of  the  old  court. 

"Why,  my  dear  sir,  who  could  have  guessed  that  I  should 
have  a  brush,  at  the  age  of  seventy-three,  with  the  son,  or 
the  grandson,  of  one  of  my  best  friends.  I  am  a  vice-admiral ^ 
monsieur;  is  not  that  as  much  as  to  say  that  I  think  no  more 
of  fighting  a  duel  than  of  smoking  a  cigar?  Why,  in  my 
time,  no  two  young  men  could  be  intimate  till  they  had  seen 
the  color  of  their  blood !  But  ^sdeath,  sir,  last  evening,  sailor- 
like^  I  had  taken  a  drop  too  much  grog  on  board,  and  I  ran 


THE  BALL  AT  SOKAUX 


97 


you  down.  Shake  hands;  I  would  rather  take  a  hundred  re- 
buffs from  a  Longueville  than  cause  his  family  the  smallest 
regret." 

However  coldly  the  young  man  tried  to  behave  to  the 
Comte  de  Kergarouet,  he  could  not  long  resist  the  frank  cor- 
diality of  his  manner,  and  presently  gave  him  his  hand. 

''You  were  going  out  riding/'  said  the  Count.  "Do  not  let 
me  detain  you.  But,  unless  you  have  other  plans,  I  beg  you 
will  come  to  dinner  to-day  at  the  Villa  Planat.  My  nephew, 
the  Comte  de  Fontaine,  is  a  man  it  is  essential  that  you 
should  know.  Ah,  ha!  And  I  propose  to  make  up  to  you 
for  my  clumsiness  by  introducing  you  to  five  of  the  prettiest 
women  in  Paris.  So,  so,  young  man,  your  brow  is  clearing ! 
I  am  fond  of  young  people,  and  I  like  to  see  them  happy. 
Their  happiness  reminds  me  of  the  good  times  of  my  youth, 
when  adventures  were  not  lacking,  any  more  than  duels.  We 
were  gay  dogs  then !  Nowadays  you  think  and  worry  ovei 
everything,  as  though  there  had  never  been  a  fifteenth  and  a 
sixteenth  century." 

"But,  monsieur,  are  we  not  in  the  right?  The  sixteenth 
century  only  gave  religious  liberty  to  Europe,  and  the  nine- 
teenth will  give  it  political  lib  " 

"Oh,  we  will  not  talk  politics.  I  am  a  perfect  old  woman 
— ultra  you  see.  But  I  do  not  hinder  young  men  from  being 
revolutionary,  so  long  as  they  leave  the  King  at  liberty  to  dis^ 
perse  their  assemblies." 

When  they  had  gone  a  little  way,  and  the  Count  and  his 
companion  were  in  the  heart  of  the  woods,  the  old  sailor 
pointed  out  a  slender  young  birch  sapling,  pulled  up  his  horse, 
took  out  one  of  his  pistols,  and  the  bullet  was  lodged  in  the 
heart  of  the  tree,  fifteen  paces  away. 

"You  see,  my  dear  fellow,  that  I  am  not  afraid  of  a  duel," 
he  said  with  comical  gravity,  as  he  looked  at  Monsieur 
Longueville. 

"^^or  am  I,"  replied  the  young  man,  promptly  cocking  his 
pistol ;  he  aimed  at  the  hole  made  by  the  Comte's  bullet;^  and 
sent  his  own  in  close  to  it. 


98 


THE  BALL  AT  SCEAUX 


'That  is  what  I  call  a  well-educated  man/'  cried  the  ad- 
miral with  enthusiasm. 

During  this  ride  with  the  youth,  whom  he  already  regarded 
as  his  nephew,  he  found  endless  opportunities  of  catechizing 
him  on  all  the  trifles  of  which  a  perfect  knowledge  consti- 
tuted, according  to  his  private  code,  an  accomplished  gentle- 
man. 

"Have  you  any  debts  he  at  last  asked  of  his  companion, 
after  many  other  inquiries. 

"No,  monsieur." 
>    ""^What,  you  pay  for  all  you  have?'' 

"Punctually;  otherwise  we  should  lose  our  credit,  and 
every  sort  of  respect." 

"But  at  least  you  have  more  than  one  mistress?  Ah,  you 
blush,  comrade!  Well,  manners  have  changed.  All  these 
notions  of  lawful  order,  Kantism,  and  liberty  have  spoilt 
the  young  men.  You  have  no  Guimard  no\\,  no  Duthe,  no 
creditors — and  you  know  nothing  of  heraldry;  why,  my  dear 
young  friend,  you  are  not  fully  fledged.  The  man  who  does 
not  sow  his  wild  oats  in  the  spring  sows  them  in  the  winter. 
If  I  have  but  eighty  thousand  francs  a  year  at  the  age  of 
seventy,  it  is  because  I  ran  through  the  capital  at  thirty. 
Oh!  with  my  wife — in  decency  and  honor.  However,  youx 
imperfections  will  not  interfere  with  my  introducing  you 
at  the  Pavilion  Planat.  Remember,  you  have  promised  to 
come,  and  I  shall  expect  you." 

"What  an  odd  little  old  man !"  said  Longueville  to  himself. 
"He  is  so  jolly  and  hale;  but  though  he  wishes  to  seem  a 
good  fellow,  I  will  not  trust  him  too  far." 

Next  day,  at  about  four  o'clock,  when  the  house  party 
were  dispersed  in  the  drawing-rooms  and  billiard-roon),  a 
servant  announced  to  the  inhabitants  of  the  Villa  Planat, 
"Monsieur  de  Longueville."  On  hearing  the  name  of  the 
old  admiral's  protege,  every  one,  down  to  the  player  who 
was  about  to  miss  his  stroke,  rushed  in,  as  much  to  study 
Mademoiselle  de  Fontaine's  countenance  as  to  judge  of  this 
phoenix  of  men,  who  had  earned  honorable  mention  to  the 


THE  BALL  AT  SCEAUX 


99 


detriment  of  so  many  rivals.  A  simple  but  elegant  style  of 
dress,  an  air  of  perfect  ease,  polite  manners,  a  pleasant  voice 
with  a  ring  in  it  which  fonnd  a  response  in  the  hearer's  heart- 
strings, won  the  good-will  of  the  family  for  Monsieur 
Longueville.  He  did  not  seem  unaccustomed  to  the  luxury  of 
the  Eeceiver-General's  ostentatious  mansion.  Though  his 
conversation  was  that  of  a  man  of  the  world,  it  was  easy  to 
discern  that  he  had  had  a  brilliant  education,  and  that  his 
Imowledge  was  as  thorough  as  it  was  extensive.  He  knew 
so  well  the  right  thing  to  say  in  a  discussion  on  naval  archi- 
tecture, trivial,  it  is  true,  started  by  the  old  admiral,  that 
one  of  the  ladies  remarked  that  he  must  have  passed  through 
the  Nicole  Poly  technique. 

"And  I  think,  madame,"  he  replied,  "that  I  may  regard  it 
as  an  honor  to  have  got  in." 

In  spite  of  urgent  pressing,  he  refused  politely  but  firmly 
l[o  be  kept  to  dinner,  and  put  an  end  to  the  persistency  of  the 
(ladies  by  saying  that  he  was  the  Hippocrates  of  his  young 
i«ister,  whose  delicate  health  required  great  care. 

"Monsieur  is  perhaps  a  medical  man?"  asked  one  of 
Emilie's  sisters-in-law  with  ironical  meaning. 

"Monsieur  has  left  the  £lcole  Polytechnique,"  Mademoiselle 
de  Fontaine  kindly  put  in;  her  face  had  flushed  with  richer 
color,  as  she  learned  that  the  yonng  lady  of  the  ball  was 
Monsieur  Longueville's  sister. 

"But,  my  dear,  he  may  be  a  doctor  and  yet  have  been  to 
the  ^lcole  Polytechnique — is  it  not  so,  monsieur?" 

"There  is  nothing  to  prevent  it,  madame,"  replied  the 
young  man. 

Every  eye  was  on  Emilie,  who  was  gazing  with  uneasy 
curiosity  at  the  fascinating  stranger.  She  breathed  more 
freely  when  he  added,  not  without  a  smile,  "I  have  not  the 
honor  of  belonging  to  the  medical  profession;  and  I  even 
gave  up  going  into  the  Engineers  in  order  to  preserve  my  in- 
dependence." 

"And  you  did  well,"  said  the  Count.  "But  how  can  you 
regard  it  as  an  honor  to  be  a  doctor?"  added  the  Breton 


100 


THE  BALL  AT  SCEAUX 


nobleman.   '^Ah,  my  young  friend,  such  a  man  as  yon  

"Monsieur  le  Comte,  I  respect  every  profession  that  has 
a  useful  purpose.'^ 

^^ell,  in  that  we  agree.  You  respect  those  professions, 
I  imagine,  as  a  young  man  respects  a  dowager." 

Monsieur  Longueville  made  his  visit  neither  too  long  nor 
too  short.  lie  left  at  the  moment  when  he  saw  that  he  had 
pleased  everybody,  and  that  each  one's  curiosity  about  him 
had  been  roused. 

"He  is  a  cunning  rascal said  the  Count,  coming  into  the 
drawing-room  after  seeing  him  to  the  door. 

Mademoiselle  de  Fontaine,  who  had  been  in  the  secret  of 
this  call,  had  dressed  with  some  care  to  attract  the  young 
man's  eye;  but  she  had  the  little  disappointment  of  finding 
that  he  did  not  bestow  on  her  so  much  attention  as  she  thought 
she  deserved.  The  family  were  a  good  deal  surprised  at 
the  silence  into  which  she  had  retired.  Emilie  generally  dis- 
played all  her  arts  for  the  benefit  of  newcomers,  her  witty 
prattle,  and  the  inexhaustible  eloquence  of  her  eyes  and  at  - 
titudes. Whether  it  was  that  the  young  man's  pleasing  voic() 
and  attractive  manners  had  charmed  her,  that  she  was  se- 
riously in  love,  and  that  this  feeling  had  worked  a  change  in 
her,  her  demeanor  had  lost  all  its  affectations.  Being  simple 
and  natural,  she  must,  no  doubt,  have  seemed  more  beauti- 
ful. Some  of  her  sisters,  and  an  old  lady,  a  friend  of  tbv 
family,  saw  in  this  behavior  a  refinement  of  art.  They  sup- 
posed that  Emilie,  judging  the  man  worthy  of  her,  intended 
to  delay  revealing  her  merits,  so  as  to  dazzle  him  suddenhf 
when  she  found  that  she  pleased  him.  Every  member  of\ 
the  family  was  curious  to  know  what  this  capricious  creature 
thought  of  the  stranger;  but  when,  during  dinner,  every  one 
chose  to  endow  Monsieur  Longueville  with  some  fresh  quality 
which  no  one  else  had  discovered.  Mademoiselle  de  Fontaine 
sat  for  some  time  in  silence.  A  sarcastic  remark  of  her  uncle's 
suddenly  roused  her  from  her  apathy;  she  said,  somewhat 
epigrammatically,  that  such  heavenly  perfection  must  cover 
some  great  defect,  and  that  she  would  take  good  care  how 
she  judged  so  gifted  a  man  at  first  sight. 


THE  BALL  AT  SCEAUX 


101 


"Those  who  please  everybody,  please  nobody,"  she  added; 
"and  the  worst  of  all  faults  is  to  have  none." 

Like  all  girls  who  are  in  love,  Emilie  cherished  the  hope 
of  being  able  to  hide  her  feelings  at  the  bottom  of  her  heart 
by  putting  the  Argus-eyes  that  watched  on  the  wrong  tack; 
but  by  the  end  of  a  fortnight  there  was  not  a  member  of  the 
large  family  party  who  was  not  in  this  little  domestic  secret. 
When  Monsieur  Longueville  called  for  the  third  time,  Emilie 
believed  it  was  chiefly  for  her  sake.  This  discovery  gave  her 
such  intoxicating  pleasure  that  she  was  startled  as  she  re- 
flected on  it.  There  was  something  in  it  very  painful  to  her 
pride.  Accustomed  as  she  was  to  be  the  centre  of  her  world, 
she  was  obliged  to  recognize  a  force  that  attracted  her  out- 
side herself ;  she  tried  to  resist,  but  she  could  not  chase  from 
iier  heart  the  fascinating  image  of  the  young  man. 

Then  came  some  anxiety.  Two  of  Monsieur  Longueville's 
([ualities,  very  adverse  to  general  curiosity,  and  especially  to 
Mademoiselle  de  Fontaine's,  were  unexpected  modesty  and 
discretion.  He  never  spoke  of  himself,  of  his  pursuits,  or 
of  his  family.  The  hints  Emilie  threw  out  in  conversation, 
and  the  traps  she  laid  to  extract  from  the  young  fellow  some 
facts  concerning  himself,  he  could  evade  with  the  adroitness 
of  a  diplomatist  concealing  a  secret.  If  she  talked  of  paint- 
ing, he  responded  as  a  connoisseur;  if  she  sat  down  to  play, 
he  showed  without  conceit  that  he  was  a  very  good  pianist; 
one  evening  he  delighted  all  the  party  by  joining  his  delight- 
ful voice  to  Emilie's  in  one  of  Cimarosa's  charming  duets. 
But  when  they  tried  to  find  out  whether  he  were  a  profes- 
sional singer,  he  baffled  them  so  pleasantly  that  he  did  not 
afford  these  women,  practised  as  they  were  in  the  art  of  read- 
ing feelings,  the  least  chance  of  discovering  to  what  social 
sphere  he  belonged.  However  boldly  the  old  uncle  cast  the' 
boarding-hooks  over  the  vessel,  Longueville  slipped  away 
cleverly,  so  as  to  preserve  the  charm  of  mystery;  and  it  was 
easy  to  him  to  remain  the  "handsome  Stranger"  at  the  Villa, 
because  curiosity  never  overstepped  the  bounds  of  good  breed- 
ing. 


102 


THE  BALL  AT  SCEAUX 


Emilie,  distracted  by  this  reserve,  hoped  to  get  more  out 
of  the  sister  than  the  brother,  in  the  form  of  confidences. 
Aided  by  her  uncle,  who  was  as  skilful  in  such  manoeuvres 
as  in  handling  a  ship,  she  endeavored  to  bring  upon  the 
scene  the  hitherto  unseen  figure  of  Mademoiselle  Clara 
Longueville.  The  family  party  at  the  Villa  Planat  soon  ex- 
pressed the  greatest  desire  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  so 
amiable  a  young  lady,  and  to  give  her  some  amusement. 
An  informal  dance  was  proposed  and  accepted.  The  ladies 
did  not  despair  of  making  a  young  girl  of  sixteen  talk. 

Notwithstanding  the  little  clouds  piled  up  by  suspicion 
and  created  by  curiosity,  a  light  of  joy  shone  in  Emilie^s  soul., 
for  she  found  life  delicious  when  thus  intimately  connected 
with  another  than  herself.  She  began  to  understand  the  rela- 
tions of  life.  Whether  it  is  that  happiness  makes  us  better, 
or  that  she  was  too  fully  occupied  to  torment  other  people, 
she  became  less  caustic,  more  gentle,  and  indulgent.  Thij» 
change  in  her  temper  enchanted  and  amazed  her  family.  Per» 
haps,  at  last,  her  selfishness  was  being  transformed  to  love. 
It  was  a  deep  delight  to  her  to  look  for  the  arrival  of  heit 
bashful  and  unconfessed  adorer.  Though  they  had  not  ut- 
tered a  word  of  passion,  she  knew  that  she  was  loved,  anc'i 
with  what  art  did  she  not  lead  the  stranger  to  unlock  thn 
stores  of  his  information,  which  proved  to  be  varied!  Shi 
perceived  that  she,  too,  was  being  studied,  and  that  madii 
her  endeavor  to  remedy  the  defects  her  education  had  en- 
couraged. Was  not  this  her  first  homage  to  love,  and  a  bitter 
reproach  to  herself?  She  desired  to  please,  and  she  was  en- 
chanting; she  loved,  and  she  was  idolized.  Her  family, 
knowing  that  her  pride  would  sufficiently  protect  her,  gave 
her  enough  freedom  to  enjoy  the  little  childish  delights  which 
give  to  first  love  its  charm  and  its  violence.  More  than  once 
the  young  man  and  Mademoiselle  de  Fontaine  walked,  tete-d- 
tete,  in  the  avenues  of  the  garden,  where  nature  was  dressed 
like  a  woman  going  to  a  ball.  More  than  once  they  had 
those  conversations,  aimless  and  meaningless,  in  which  the 
emptiest  phrases  are  those  which  cover  the  deepest  feelings. 


THE  BALL  AT  SCEAUX 


103 


They  often  admired  together  the  setting  sun  and  its  gorgeous 
coloring.  They  gathered  daisies  to  pull  the  petals  off,  and 
sang  the  most  impassioned  duets,  using  the  notes  set  down 
by  Pergolesi  or  Rossini  as  faithful  interpreters  to  express 
tiieir  secrets. 

The  day  of  the  dance  came.  Clara  Longueville  and  her 
brother,  whom  the  servants  persisted  in  honoring  with  the 
noble  de,  were  the  principal  guests.  For  the  first  time  in  her 
life  Mademoiselle  de  Fontaine  felt  pleasure  in  a  young  girl's 
triumph.  She  lavished  on  Clara  in  all  sincerity  the  gracious 
petting  and  little  attentions  which  women  generally  give  each 
other  only  to  excite  the  jealousy  of  men.  Emilie  had,  indeed, 
an  object  in  view ;  she  wanted  to  discover  some  secrets.  But, 
being  a  girl.  Mademoiselle  Longueville  showed  even  more 
mother-wit  than  her  brother,  for  she  did  not  even  look  as  if 
she  were  hiding  a  secret,  and  kept  the  conversation  to  subjects 
unconnected  with  personal  interests,  while,  at  the  same  time, 
she  gave  it  so  much  charm  that  Mademoiselle  de  Fontaine 
was  almost  envious,  and  called  her  "the  Siren."  Though 
Emilie  had  intended  to  make  Clara  talk,  it  was  Clara,  in  fact, 
who  questioned  Emilie;  she  had  meant  to  judge  her,  and  she 
was  judged  by  her;  she  was  constantly  provoked  to  find  that 
she  had  betrayed  her  own  character  in  some  reply  which  Claza 
had  extracted  from  her,  while  her  modest  and  candid  manner 
prohibited  any  suspicion  of  perfidy.  There  was  a  moment 
\vhen  Mademoiselle  de  Fontaine  seemed  sorry  for  an  ill-judged 
sally  against  the  commonalty  to  which  Clara  had  led  her. 

"Mademoiselle,"  said  the  sweet  child,  "I  have  heard  so 
much  of  you  from  Maximilien  that  I  had  the  keenest  desire  to 
know  you,  out  of  affection  for  him ;  but  is  not  a  wish  to  know 
you  a  wish  to  love  you  ?" 

"My  dear  Clara,  I  feared  I  might  have  displeased  you  by 
speaking  thus  of  people  who  are  not  of  noble  birth." 

"Oh,  be  quite  easy.  That  sort  of  discussion  is  pointless  in 
these  days.  As  for  me,  it  does  not  affect  me.  I  am  beside 
the  question." 

Ambitious  as  the  answer  might  seem,  it  filled  Mademoiselle 


104 


THE  BALL  xiT  SCEAUX 


de  Fontaine  with  the  deepest  joy ;  for,  like  all  infatuated  peo- 
ple, she  explained  it,  as  oracles  are  explained,  in  the  sense 
that  harmonized  with  her  wishes;  she  began  dancing  again 
in  higher  spirits  than  ever,  as  she  watched  Longueville,  whose 
figure  and  grace  almost  surpassed  those  of  her  imaginary 
ideal.  She  felt  added  satisfaction  in  believing  him  to  be 
well  bom,  her  black  eyes  sparkled,  and  she  danced  with  all 
the  pleasure  that  comes  of  dancing  in  the  presence  of  the 
being  we  love.  The  couple  had  never  understood  each  other 
so  well  as  at  this  moment;  more  than  once  they  felt  their 
finger  tips  thrill  and  tremble  as  they  were  married  in  the 
figures  of  the  dance. 

The  early  autumn  had  come  to  the  handsome  pair,  in 
the  midst  of  country  festivities  and  pleasures;  they  had 
abandoned  themselves  softly  to  the  tide  of  the  sweetest  senti- 
ment in  life,  strengthening  it  by  a  thousand  little  incidents 
which  any  one  can  imagine ;  for  love  is  in  some  respects  always 
the  same.  They  studied  each  other  through  it  all,  as  much  as 
lovers  can. 

'^Well,  well;  a  flirtation  never  turned  so  quickly  into  a 
love  match."  said  the  old  uncle,  who  kept  an  eye  on  the 
two  young  people  as  a  naturalist  watches  an  insect  in  the  mi- 
croscope. 

This  speech  alarmed  Monsieur  and  Madame  Fontaine.  The 
old  Vendeen  had  ceased  to  be  so  indifferent  to  his  daughter's', 
prospects  as  he  had  promised  to  be.  He  went  to  Paris  to 
seek  information,  and  found  none.  Uneasy  at  this  mystery., 
and  not  yet  knowing  what  might  be  the  outcome  of  the  in- 
quiry which  he  had  begged  a  Paris  friend  to  institute  with 
reference  to  the  family  of  Longueville,  he  thought  it  his  duty 
to  warn  his  daughter  to  behave  prudently.  The  fatherly  ad- 
monition was  received  with  mock  submission  spiced  with 
irony. 

''At  least,  my  dear  Emilie,  if  you  love  him,  do  not  own  it 
to  him." 

"My  dear  father,  I  certainly  do  love  him ;  but  I  will  await 
your  permission  before  I  tell  him  so." 


THE  BALL  AT  SCEAUX 


105 


"But  remember,  Emilie,  you  know  nothing  of  his  family 
or  his  pursuits." 

"I  may  be  ignorant,  but  I  am  content  to  be.  But,  father, 
you  wished  to  see  me  married;  you  left  me  at  liberty  to 
make  my  choice;  my  choice  is  irrevocably  made — what  more 
is  needful?" 

^^It  is  needful  to  ascertain,  my  dear,  whether  the  man  of 
your  choice  is  the  son  of  a  peer  of  France,"  the  venerable 
gentleman  retorted  sarcastically. 

Emilie  was  silent  for  a  moment.  She  presently  raised  her 
head,  looked  at  her  father,  and  said  somewhat  anxiously,  "Are 
not  the  Longuevilles  ?" 

"They  became  extinct  in  the  person  of  the  old  Due  de 
Eostein-Limbourg,  who  perished  on  the  scaffold  in  1793. 
He  was  the  last  representative  of  the  last  and  younger 
branch." 

"But,  papa,  there  are  some  very  good  families  descended 
from  bastards.  The  history  of  France  swarms  with  princes 
bearing  the  bar  sinister  on  their  shields." 

"Your  ideas  are  much  changed,"  said  the  old  man,  with  a 
smile. 

The  following  day  was  the  last  that  the  Fontaine  family 
were  to  spend  at  the  Pavilion  Planat.  Emilie,  greatly  dis- 
turbed by  her  father's  warning,  awaited  with  extreme  im- 
patience the  hour  at  which  young  Longueville  was  in  the 
habit  of  coming,  to  wring  some  explanation  from  him.  She 
went  out  after  dinner,  and  walked  alone  across  the  shrub- 
bery towards  an  arbor  fit  for  lovers,  where  she  knew  that 
the  eager  youth  would  seek  her;  and  as  she  hastened  thither 
she  considered  of  the  best  way  to  discover  so  important  a 
matter  without  compromising  herself — a  rather  difficult 
thing!  Hitherto  no  direct  avowal  had  sanctioned  the  feel- 
ings which  bound  her  to  this  stranger.  Like  Maximilien, 
she  had  secretly  enjoyed  the  sweetness  of  first  love ;  but  both 
were  equally  proud,  and  each  feared  to  confess  that  love. 

Maximilien  Longueville,  to  whom  Clara  had  communicated 
her  not  unfounded  suspicions  as  to  Emilie's  character,  was  by 


106 


THE  BALL  AT  SCEAUX 


turns  c'arried  away  b}^  the  violence  of  a  young  man's  passion^ 
and  held  back  by  a  wish  to  know  and  test  the  woman  to 
whom  he  would  be  entrusting  his  happiness.  His  love  had 
not  hindered  him  from  perceiving  in  Emilie  the  prejudices 
which  marred  her  young  nature;  but  before  attempting  to 
counteract  them,  he  wished  to  be  sure  that  she  loved  him, 
for  he  would  no  sooner  risk  the  fate  of  his  love  than  of  his 
life.  He  had,  therefore,  persistently  kept  a  silence  to  which 
his  looks,  his  behavior,  and  his  smallest  actions  gave  the 
lie. 

On  her  side,  the  self-respect  natural  to  a  young  girl,  aug- 
mented in  Mademoiselle  de  Fontaine  by  the  monstrous  vanity 
founded  on  her  birth  and  beauty,  kept  her  from  meeting  the 
declaration  half-way,  which  her  growing  passion  sometimes 
urged  her  to  invite.  Thus  the  lovers  had  instinctively  under- 
stood the  situation  without  explaining  to  each  other  their  secret 
motives.  There  are  times  in  life  when  such  vagueness  pleases 
youthful  minds.  Just  because  each  had  postponed  speaking 
too  long,  they  seemed  to  be  playing  a  cruel  game  of  suspense. 
He  was  trying  to  discover  whether  he  was  beloved,  by  the 
effort  any  confession  would  cost  his  haughty  mistress;  she 
every  minute  hoped  that  he  would  break  a  too  respectful  si- 
lence. 

Emilie,  seated  on  a  rustic  bench,  was  reflecting  on  all  that 
had  happened  in  these  three  months  full  of  enchantment. 
Her  father's  suspicions  were  the  last  that  could  appeal  to  her ; 
she  even  disposed  of  them  at  once  by  two  or  three  of  those 
reflections  natural  to  an  inexperienced  girl,  which,  to  her, 
seemed  conclusive.  Above  all,  she  was  convinced  that  it  was 
impossible  that  she  should  deceive  herself.  All  the  summer 
through  she  had  not  been  able  to  detect  in  Maximilien  a 
single  gesture,  or  a  single  word,  which  could  indicate  a  vul- 
gar origin  or  vulgar  occupations ;  nay  more,  his  manner  of  dis- 
cussing things  revealed  a  man  devoted  to  the  highest  inter- 
ests of  the  nation.  "Besides,"  she  reflected,  "an  office  clerk, 
a  banker,  or  a  merchant,  would  not  be  at  leisure  to  spend 
a  whole  season  in  paying  his  addresses  to  me  in  the  midst  of 


THE  BALL  AT  SCEAUX 


lov 


woods  and  fields;  wasting  his  time  as  freely  as  a  nobleman 
who  has  life  before  him  free  of  all  care." 

She  had  given  herself  up  to  meditations  far  more  interest- 
ing to  her  than  these  preliminary  thoughts,  when  a  slight 
rustling  in  the  leaves  announced  to  her  that  Maximilien 
had  been  watching  her  for  a  minute,  not  probably  without  ad- 
miration. 

^'Do  you  know  that  it  is  very  wrong  to  take  a  young  gir\ 
thus  unawares?''  she  asked  him,  smiling.  \ 

"Especially  when  they  are  busy  with  their  secrets,"  replied 
Maximilien  archly. 

"Why  should  I  not  have  my  secrets?  You  certainly  have 
yours." 

"Then  you  really  were  thinking  of  your  secrets  ?"  he  went 
on,  laughing. 

"No,  I  was  thinking  of  yours.   My  own,  I  know." 

"But  perhaps  my  secrets  are  yours,  and  yours  mine,"  cried 
the  young  man,  softly  seizing  Mademoiselle  de  Fontaine's 
hand  and  drawing  it  through  his  arm. 

After  walking  a  few  steps  they  found  themselves  under  a 
dump  of  trees  which  the  hues  of  the  sinking  sun  wrapped 
in  a  haze  of  red  and  brown.  This  touch  of  natural  magic 
lent  a  certain  solemnity  to  the  moment.  The  young  man's 
free  and  eager  action,  and,  above  all,  the  throbbing  of  his 
surging  heart,  whose  hurried  beating  spoke  to  Emilie's  arm, 
stirred  her  to  an  emotion  that  was  all  the  more  disturbing 
because  it  was  produced  by  the  simplest  and  most  innocent 
circumstances.  The  restraint  under  which  young  girls  of  the 
upper  class  live  gives  incredible  force  to  any  explosion  of  feel- 
ing, and  to  meet  an  impassioned  lover  is  one  of  the  greatest 
dangers  they  can  encounter.  Never  had  Emilie  and  Maxi- 
milien allowed  their  eyes  to  say  so  much  that  they  dared 
never  speak.  Carried  away  by  this  intoxication,  they  easily 
forgot  the  petty  stipulations  of  pride,  and  the  cold  hesitancies 
of  suspicion.  At  first,  indeed,  they  could  only  express  them- 
selves by  a  pressure  of  hands  which  interpreted  their  happy 
thoughts. 


108 


THE  BALL  AT  SCEAUX 


After  slowly  pacing  a  few  steps  in  long  silence,  Made- 
moiselle de  Fontaine  spoke.  "Monsieur,  I  iiave  a  question 
to  ask  you/'  she  said,  trembling,  and  in  an  agitated  voice. 
"But,  remember,  I  beg,  that  it  is  in  a  manner  compulsory 
on  me,  from  the  rather  singular  position  I  am  in  with  regard 
to  my  family/' 

A  pause,  terrible  to  Emilie,  followed  these  sentences,  which 
she  had  almost  stammered  out.  During  the  minute  while  it 
lasted,  the  girl,  haughty  as  she  was,  dared  not  meet  the 
flashing  eye  of  the  man  she  loved,  for  she  was  secretly  con- 
scious of  the  meanness  of  the  next  words  she  added:  "Are 
you  of  noble  birth  ?" 

As  soon  as  the  words  were  spoken  she  wished  herself  at  the 
bottom  of  a  lake. 

"Mademoiselle,"  Longueville  gravely  replied,  and  his  face 
assumed  a  sort  of  stern  dignity,  "I  promise  to  answer  you 
truly  as  soon  as  you  shall  have  answered  in  all  sincerity  a 
question  I  vail  put  to  you !" — He  released  her  arm,  and  the 
girl  suddenly  felt  alone  in  the  world,  as  he  said:  "What  is 
your  object  in  questioning  me  as  to  my  birth  ?" 

She  stood  motionless,  cold,  and  speechless. 

"Mademoiselle,"  Maximilien  went  on,  "let  us  go  nt  "'irther 
if  we  do  not  understand  each  other.  I  love  you,"  he  said,  in 
a  voice  of  deep  emotion.  "Well,  then,"  he  added,  as  he  heard 
the  joyful  exclamation  she  could  not  suppress,  "why  ask  me  if 
I  am  of  noble  birth?" 

"Could  he  speak  so  if  he  were  not?"  cried  a  voice  within 
her,  which  Emilie  believed  came  from  the  depths  of  her  heart. 
She  gracefully  raised  her  head,  seemed  to  find  new  life  in 
the  young  man's  ga^e,  and  held  out  her  hand  as  if  to  rene.\«' 
the  alliance. 

"You  thought  I  cared  very  much  for  dignities  ?'^  said  she 
with  keen  archness. 

"I  have  no  titles  to  offer  my  wife,"  he  replied,  in  a  half- 
sportive,  half-serious  tone.  "But  if  I  choose  one  of  high 
rank,  and  among  women  whom  a  wealthy  home  has  accus- 
tomed to  the  luxury  and  pleasures  of  a  fine  fortune^  I  know 


THE  BALI.  AT  S(1EAUX 


109 


what  such  a  choice  requires  of  me.  Love  gives  everything," 
he  added  lightly,  "but  only  to  lovers.  Once  married,  they 
need  something  more  than  the  vault  of  heaven  and  the  carpet 
of  a  meadow." 

"He  is  rich,"  she  reflected.  "As  to  titles,  perhaps  he  only 
wants  to  try  me.  He  has  been  told  that  I  am  mad  about 
titles,  and  bent  on  marrying  none  but  a  peer's  son.  My  prig- 
gish sisters  have  played  me  that  trick." — "I  assure  you,  mon- 
sieur," she  said  aloud,  "that  I  have  had  very  extravagant 
ideas  about  life  and  the  world ;  but  now,"  she  added  pointedly, 
looking  at  him  in  a  perfectly  distracting  way,  "I  know  where 
true  riches  are  to  be  found  for  a  wife." 

"I  must  believe  that  you  are  speaking  from  the  depths  of 
your  heart,"  he  said,  with  gentle  gravity.  "But  this  winter, 
my  dear  Emilie,  in  less  than  two  months  perhaps,  I  may  be 
proud  of  what  I  shall  have  to  offer  you  if  you  care  for  the 
pleasures  of  wealth.  This  is  the  only  secret  I  shall  keep 
locked  here,"  and  he  laid  his  hand  on  his  heart,  "for  on  its 
success  my  happiness  depends.   I  dare  not  say  ours." 

"Yes,  yes,  ours !" 

Exchanging  such  sweet  nothings,  they  slowly  made  their 
way  back  to  rejoin  the  company.  Mademoiselle  de  Fontaine 
had  never  found  her  lover  more  amiable  or  wittier:  his 
light  figure,  his  engaging  manners,  seemed  to  her  more  charm- 
ing than  ever,  since  the  conversation  which  had  made  her  to 
some  extent  the  possessor  of  a  heart  worthy  to  be  the  envy 
of  every  woman.  They  sang  an  Italian  duet  with  so  much 
expression  that  the  audience  applauded  enthusiastically. 
Their  adieux  were  in  a  conventional  tone,  which  concealed 
their  happiness.  In  short,  this  day  had  been  to  Emilie  like 
a  chain  binding  her  more  closely  than  ever  to  the  Stranger's 
fate.  The  strength  and  dignity  he  had  displayed  in  the 
scene  when  they  had  confessed  their  feelings  had  perhaps  im- 
pressed Mademoiselle  de  Fontaine  with  the  respect  without 
which  there  is  no  true  love. 

When  she  was  left  alone  in  the  drawing-room  with  her 
father,  the  old  man  went  up  to  her  affectionately,  held  her 


110 


THE  BALI.  AT  SCEAUX 


hands,  and  asked  her  whether  she  had  gained  any  light  as  to 
Monsieur  Longueville's  family  and  fortune. 

"Yes,  my  dear  father/'  she  replied,  "and  I  am  happier  than 
I  could  have  hoped.  In  short,  Monsieur  de  Longueville  is  the 
only  man  I  could  ever  marry." 

"Very  well,  Emilie,"  said  the  Count,  "then  I  know  what 
remains  for  me  to  do." 

"Do  you  know  of  any  impediment?"  she  asked,  in  sincere 
alarm. 

"My  dear  child,  the  young  man  is  totally  unknown  to  me; 
but  unless  he  is  not  a  man  of  honor,  so  long  as  you  love 
him,  he  is  as  dear  to  me  as  a  son." 

"Not  a  man  of  honor!"  exclaimed  Emilie.  "As  to  that, 
I  am  quite  easy.  My  uncle,  who  introduced  him  to  us,  will 
answer  for  him.  Say,  my  dear  uncle,  has  he  been  a  filibuster, 
an  outlaw,  a  pirate?" 

"I  knew  I  should  find  myself  in  this  fix!"  cried  the  old 
sailor,  waking  up.  He  looked  round  the  room,  but  his  niece 
had  vanished  "like  Saint-Elmo's  fires,"  to  use  his  favorite 
expression. 

"Well,  uncle,"  Monsieur  de  Fontaine  went  on,  "how  could 
you  hide  from  us  all  you  knew  about  this  young  man?  You 
must  have  seen  how  anxious  we  have  been.  Is  Monsieur  de 
Longueville  a  man  of  family  ?" 

"I  don't  know  him  from  Adam  or  Eve,"  said  the  Comte 
de  Kergarouet.  "Trusting  to  that  crazy  child's  tact,  I  got 
him  here  by  a  method  of  my  own.  I  know  that  the  boy 
shoots  with  a  pistol  to  admiration,  hunts  well,  plays  wonder- 
fully at  billiards,  at  chess,  and  at  backgammon;  he  handles 
the  foils,  and  rides  a  horse  like  the  late  Chevalier  de  Saint- 
Georges.  He  has  a  thorough  knowledge  of  all  our  vintages. 
He  is  as  good  an  arithmetician  as  Bareme,  draws,  dances,  and 
sings  well.  The  devil's  in  it !  what  more  do  you  want  ?  If 
that  is  not  a  perfect  gentleman,  find  me  a  bourgeois  who 
knows  all  this,  or  any  man  who  lives  more  nobly  than  he 
does.  Does  he  do  anything,  I  ask  you  ?  Does  he  compromise 
his  dignity  by  hanging  about  an  office,  bowing  down  before 


THE  BATJi  AT  SCBAUX 


111 


the  upstarts  you  call  Directors-General  ?  He  walks  upright. 
He  is  a  man. — However,  1  have  just  found  in  my  waistcoat 
pocket  the  card  he  gave  me  when  he  fancied  I  wanted  to  cut 
his  throat,  poor  innocent.  Young  men  are  very  simple- 
minded  nowadays  !    Here  it  is.^' 

"Eue  du  Sentier,  No.  5/'  said  Monsieur  de  Fontaine,  try- 
ing to  recall  among  all  the  information  he  had  received, 
something  which  might  concern  the  stranger.  "What  the 
devil  can  it  mean?  Messrs.  Palma,  Werbrust  &  Co.,  whole- 
sale dealers  in  muslins,  calicoes,  and  printed  cotton  goods, 
live  there. — Stay,  I  have  it:  Longueville  the  deputy  has  an 
'  interest  in  their  house.  Well,  but  so  far  as  I  know,  Longue- 
ville has  but  one  son  of  two-and-thirty,  who  is  not  at  all  like 
our  man,  and  to  whom  he  gave  fifty  thousand  francs  a  year 
that  he  might  marry  a  minister's  daughter;  he  wants  to  be 
made  a  peer  like  the  rest  of  ^em. — I  never  heard  him  men- 
tion this  Maximilien.  Has  he  a  daughter?  What  is  this 
girl  Clara  ?  Besides,  it  is  open  to  any  adventurer  to  call  him- 
self Longueville.  But  is  not  the  house  of  Palma,  Werbrust 
&  Co.  half  ruined  by  some  speculation  in  Mexico  or  the  In- 
dies?  I  will  clear  all  this  up.'' 

"You  speak  a  soliloquy  as  if  you  were  on  the  stage,  and 
seem  to  account  me  a  cipher,"  said  the  old  admiral  sud- 
denly. "Don't  you  know  that  if  he  is  a  gentleman,  I  have 
more  than  one  bag  in  my  hold  that  will  stop  any  leak  in  his 
fortune  ?" 

"As  to  that,  if  he  is  a  son  of  Longueville's,  he  will  want 
nothing;  but,"  said  Monsieur  de  Fontaine,  shaking  his  head 
from  side  to  side,  "his  father  has  not  even  washed  ojffi  the 
stains  of  his  origin.  Before  the  Eevolution  he  was  an  at- 
torney, and  the  de  he  has  since  assumed  no  more  belongs  to 
him  than  half  of  his  fortune." 

"Pooh !  pooh !  happy  those  whose  fathers  were  hanged !" 
cried  the  admiral  gaily. 

Three  or  four  days  after  this  memorable  day,  on  one  of 
those  fine  mornings  in  the  month  of  November,  which  show 


112 


THE  BALL  AT  SCEAUX 


the  boulevards  cleaned  by  the  sharp  cold  of  an  early  frost, 
Mademoiselle  de  Fontaine,  wrapped  in  a  new  style  of  fur  cape,, 
of  which  she  wished  to  set  the  fashion,  went  out  with  two 
of  her  sisters-in-law,  on  whom  she  had  been  wont  to  discharge 
her  most  cutting  remarks.  The  three  women  were  tempted 
to  the  drive,  less  by  their  desire  to  try  a  very  elegant  carriage, 
and  wear  gowns  which  were  to  set  the  fashions  for  the  win- 
ter, than  by  their  wish  to  see  a  cape  which  a  friend  had 
observed  in  a  handsome  lace  and  linen  shop  at  tjie  corner  of 
the  Eue  de  la  Paix.  As  soon  as  they  were  in  the  shop  the 
Baronne  de  Fontaine  pulled  Emilie  by  the  sleeve,  and  pointed 
out  to  her  Maximilien  Longueville  seated  behind  the  desk,' 
and  engaged  in  paying  out  the  change  for  a  gold  piece  to 
one  of  the  workwomen  with  whom  he  seemed  to  be  in  con- 
sultation. The  "handsome  stranger"  held  in  his  hand  a 
parcel  of  patterns,  which  left  no  doubt  as  to  his  honorable 
profession. 

Emilie  felt  an  icy  shudder,  though  no  one  perceived  it. 
Thanks  to  the  good  breeding  of  the  best  society,  she  com- 
pletely concealed  the  rage  in  her  heart,  and  answered  her  sis- 
ter-in-law with  the  words,  "I  knew  it,"  with  a  fulness  of 
intonation  and  inimitable  decision  which  the  most  famous 
actress  of  the  time  might  have  envied  her.  She  went  straight 
up  to  the  desk.  Longueville  looked  up,  put  the  patterns  in 
his  pocket  with  distracting  coolness,  bowed  to  Mademoiselle 
de  Fontaine,  and  came  forward,  looking  at  her  keenly. 

"Mademoiselle,"  he  said  to  the  shopgirl,  who  followed  him, 
looking  very  much  disturbed,  "I  will  send  to  settle  that  ac- 
count; my  house  deals  in  that  way.  But  here,"  he  whis- 
pered  into  her  ear,  as  he  gave  her  a  thousand-franc  note, 
"take  this — it  is  between  ourselves. — You  will  forgive  me. 
I  trust,  mademoiselle,"  he  added,  turning  to  Emilie.  "You 
will  kindly  excuse  the  tyranny  of  business  matters." 

"Indeed,  monsieur,  it  seems  to  me  that  it  is  no  concern  of 
mine,"  replied  Mademoiselle  de  Fontaine,  looking  at  him 
with  a  bold  expression  of  sarcastic  indifference  which  might 
have  made  any  one  believe  that  she  now  saw  him  for  the  first 
time. 


THE  BALL  AT  SCEAUX 


113 


''Do  you  really  mean  it?"  asked  Maximilien  in  a  broken 
voice. 

Emilie  turned  her  back  upon  him  with  amazing  insolence. 
These  words,  spoken  in  an  undertone,  had  escaped  the  ears 
of  her  two  sisters-in-law.  When,  after  buying  the  cape,  the 
three  ladies  got  into  the  carriage  again,  Emilie,  seated  with 
her  back  to  the  horses,  could  not  resist  one  last  compre- 
hensive glance  into  the  depths  of  the  odious  shop,  where  she 
saw  Maximilien  standing  with  his  arms  folded,  in  the  at- 
titude of  a  man  superior  to  the  disaster  that  had  so  suddenly 
fallen  on  him.  Their  eyes  met  and  flashed  implacable  looks. 
Each  hoped  to  inflict  a  cruel  wound  on  the  heart  of  a  lover. 
In  one  instant  they  were  as  far  apart  as  if  one  had  been  in 
'China  and  the  other  in  Greenland. 

Does  not  the  breath  of  vanity  wither  everything?  Made- 
]noiselle  de  Fontaine,  a  prey  to  the  most  violent  struggle  that 
can  torture  the  heart  of  a  young  girl,  reaped  the  richest  har- 
vest of  anguish  that  prejudice  and  narrow-mindedness  ever 
isowed  in  a  human  soul.  Her  face,  but  just  now  fresh  and 
velvety,  was  streaked  with  yellow  lines  and  red  patches;  the 
I)aleness  of  her  cheeks  seemed  every  now  and  then  to  turn 
green.  Hoping  to  hide  her  despair  from  her  sisters,  she 
would  laugh  as  she  pointed  out  some  ridiculous  dress  or 
passer-by;  but  her  laughter  was  spasmodic.  She  was  more 
deeply  hurt  by  their  unspoken  compassion  than  by  any 
satirical  comments  for  which  she  might  have  revenged  her- 
self. She  exhausted  her  wit  in  trying  to  engage  them  in 
a  conversation,  in  which  she  tried  to  expend  her  fury  in 
senseless  paradoxes,  heaping  on  all  men  engaged  in  trade  the 
bitterest  insults  and  witticisms  in  the  worst  taste. 

On  getting  home,  she  had  an  attack  of  fever,  which  at  first 
assumed  a  somewhat  serious  character.  By  the  end  of  a 
month  the  care  of  her  parents  and  of  the  physician  restored 
her  to  her  family. 

Every  one  hoped  that  this  lesson  would  be  severe  enough 
to  subdue  Emilie's  nature;  but  she  insensibly  fell  into  her 
old  habits  and  threw  herself  again  into  the  world  of  fashion. 


114 


THE  BALL  AT  SCEAUX 


She  declared  that  there  was  no  disgrace  in  making  a  mistake. 
If  she,  like  her  father,  had  a  vote  in  the  Chamber,  she  would 
move  for  an  edict,  she  said,  by  which  all  merchants,  and 
especially  dealers  in  calico,  should  be  branded  on  the  fore- 
head, like  Berri  sheep,  down  to  the  third  generation.  She 
wished  that  none  but  nobles  should  have  a  right  to  wear 
the  antique  French  costume,  which  was  so  becoming  to  the 
courtiers  of  Louis  XV.  To  hear  her,  it  was  a  misfortune 
for  France,  perhaps,  that  there  was  no  outward  and  visible 
difference  between  a  merchant  and  a  peer  of  France.  And  a 
hundred  more  such  pleasantries,  easy  to  imagine,  were  rapidly 
poured  out  when  any  accident  brought  up  the  subject. 

But  those  who  loved  Emilie  could  see  through  all  her 
banter  a  tinge  of  melancholy.  It  was  clear  that  Maximilien 
Longueville  still  reigned  over  that  inexorable  heart.  Some- 
times she  would  be  as  gentle  as  she  had  been  during  the 
brief  summer  that  had  seen  the  birth  of  her  love ;  sometimes, 
again,  she  was  unendurable.  Every  one  made  excuses  for  hei' 
inequality  of  temper,  which  had  its  source  in  sufferings  at 
once  secret  and  known  to  all.  The  Comte  de  Kergarouet 
had  some  influence  over  her,  thanks  to  his  increased  prodi- 
gality, a  kind  of  consolation  which  rarely  fails  of  its  effect 
on  a  Parisian  girl. 

The  first  ball  at  which  Mademoiselle  de  Fontaine  appeared 
was  at  the  Neapolitan  ambassador's.  As  she  took  her  place  in 
the  first  quadrille  she  saw,  a  few  yards  aw^y  from  her,  Maxi- 
milien Longueville,  who  nodded  slightly  to  her  partner. 

^'Is  that  young  man  a  friend  of  yours?''  she  asked,  with 
a  scornful  air. 

"Only  my  brother,'^  he  replied. 

Emilie  could  not  help  starting.  "Ah !"  he  continued,  "and 
he  is  the  noblest  soul  living  " 

"Do  you  know  my  name?"  asked  Emilie,  eagerly  inter- 
rupting him. 

"No,  mademoiselle.  It  is  a  crime,  I  confess,  not  to  re- 
member a  name  which  is  on  every  lip — I  ought  to  say  in 
every  heart.    But  I  have  a  valid  excuse.    I  have  but  just 


THE  BALL  AT  SCEAUX 


115 


arrived  from  Germany.  My  ambassador,  who  is  in  Paris  on 
leave,  sent  me  here  this  evening  to  take  care  of  his  amiable 
wife,  whom  you  may  see  yonder  in  that  corner." 

"A  perfect  tragic  mask!"  said  Emilie,  after  looking  at 
the  ambassadress. 

"And  yet  that  is  her  ballroom  face !"  said  the  young  mm, 
laughing.  "I  shall  have  to  dance  with  her !  So  I  thought  I 
might  have  some  compensation."  Mademoiselle  de  Fon- 
taine courtesied.  "I  was  very  much  surprised,"  the  voluble 
young  secretary  went  on,  "to  find  my  brother  here.  On  ar- 
riving from  Vienna  I  heard  that  the  poor  boy  was  ill  in  bed, 
and  I  counted  on  seeing  him  before  coming  to  this  ball; 
but  good  policy  will  not  always  allow  us  to  indulge  family 
affection.  The  Padrona  della  casa  would  not  give  me  time 
to  call  on  my  poor  Maximilien." 

"Then,  monsieur,  your  brother  is  not,  like  you,  in 
diplomatic  employment." 

"i^o,"  said  the  attache,  with  a  sigh,  "the  poor  fellow  sacri- 
ficed himself  for  me.  He  and  my  sister  Clara  have  renounced 
their  share  of  my  father's  fortune  to  make  an  eldest  son  of 
me.  My  father  dreams  of  a  peerage,  like  all  who  vote  for 
the  ministry.  Indeed,  it  is  promised  him,"  he  added  in  an 
undertone.  "After  saving  up  a  little  capital  my  brother 
joined  a  banking  firm,  and  I  hear  he  has  just  effected  a 
speculation  in  Brazil  v/hich  may  make  him  a  millionaire. 
You  see  me  in  the  highest  spirits  at  having  been  able,  by 
my  diplomatic  connections,  to  contribute  to  his  success.  I 
am  impatiently  expecting  a  dispatch  from  the  Brazilian  Lega- 
tion, which  v/ill  help  to  lift  the  cloud  from  his  brow.  What 
do  you  think  of  him?" 

"Well,  your  brother's  face  does  not  look  to  me  like  that 
of  a  man  busied  with  money  matters." 

The  young  attache  shot  a  scrutinizing  glance  at  the  ap- 
parently calm  face  of  his  partner. 

"What !"  he  exclaimed,  with  a  smile,  "can  young  ladies 
read  the  thoughts  of  love  behind  a  silent  brow  ?" 

"Your  brother  is  in  love,  then?"  she  asked,  betrayed  into 
a  movement  of  euriobitys 


116 


THE  BALL  AT  SCEAUX 


"Yes;  my  sister  Clara^  to  whom  he  is  as  devoted  as  a 
mother,  wrote  to  me  that  he  had  fallen  in  love  this  summer 
with  a  very  pretty  girl;  but  I  have  had  no  further  news  of 
the  affair.  Would  you  believe  that  the  poor  boy  used  to 
get  up  at  five  in  the  morning,  and  went  off  to  settle  his 
business  that  he  might  be  back  by  four  o'clock  in  the  country 
where  the  lady  was?  In  fact,  he  ruined  a  very  nice  thor- 
oughbred that  T  had  given  him.  Forgive  my  chatter,  made- 
moiselle; I  have  but  just  come  home  from  Germany.  For 
a  year  I  have  heard  no  decent  French,  I  have  been  weaned 
from  French  faces,  and  satiated  with  Germans,  to  such  a 
degree  that,  I  believe,  in  my  patriotic  mania,  I  could  talk 
to  the  chimeras  on  a  French  candlestick.  And  if  I  talk  with 
a  lack  of  reserve  unbecoming  in  a  diplomatist,  the  fault  is 
yours,  mademoiselle.  Was  it  not  you  who  pointed  out  my 
brother?  When  he  is  the  theme  I  become  inexhaustible.  I 
should  like  to  proclaim  to  all  the  world  how  good  and 
generous  he  is.  He  gave  up  no  less  than  a  hundred  thou- 
sand francs  a  year,  the  income  from  the  Longueville  prop- 
erty." 

If  Mademoiselle  de  Fontaine  had  the  benefit  of  these  im- 
portant revelations,  it  was  partly  due  to  the  skill  with  which 
she  continued  to  question  her  confiding  partner  from  the 
moment  when  she  found  that  he  was  the  brother  of  hei' 
scorned  lover. 

"And  could  you,  without  being  grieved,  see  your  brother 
selling  muslin  and  calico?"  asked  Emilie,  at  the  end  of  the 
third  figure  of  the  quadrille. 

"How  do  you  know  that?"  asked  the  attache.  "Thank 
God,  though  I  pour  out  a  flood  of  words,  I  have  already 
acquired  the  art  of  not  telling  more  than  I  intend,  like  all 
the  other  diplomatic  apprentices  I  know." 

"You  told  me,  I  assure  you." 

Monsieur  de  Longueville  looked  at  Mademoiselle  de  Fon- 
taine with  a  surprise  that  was  full  of  perspicacity.  A  sus- 
picion flashed  upon  him.  He  glanced  inquiringly  from  his 
brother  to  his  partner,  guessed  everything,  clasped  his  hands, 


THE  BALL  AT  SOEAUX 


117 


fixed  his  eyes  on  the  ceiling,  and  began  to  laugh,  saying, 
"I  am  an  idiot!  You  are 'the  handsomest  person  here;  my 
brother  keeps  stealing  glances  at  you ;  he  is  dancing  in  spite 
of  his  illness,  and  you  pretend  not  to  see  him.  Make  him 
happy,"  he  added,  as  he  led  her  back  to  her  old  uncle.  ^^1 
shall  not  be  jealous,  but  I  shall  always  shiver  a  little  at  call- 
ing you  my  sister  " 

The  lovers,  however,  were  to  prove  as  inexorable  to  each 
other  as  they  were  to  themselves.  At  about  two  in  the 
morning,  refreshments  were  served  in  an  immense  corridor, 
where,  to  leave  persons  of  the  same  coterie  free  to  meet 
each  other,  the  tables  were  arranged  as  in  a  restaurant.  By 
one  of  those  accidents  which  always  happen  to  lovers.  Made- 
moiselle de  Fontaine  found  lierself  at  a  table  next  to  that 
at  which  the  more  important  guests  were  seated.  Maxi- 
milien  was  one  of  the  group.  Emilie,  who  lent  an  attentive 
ear  to  her  neighbors'  conversation,  overheard  one  of  those 
dialogues  into  which  a  young  woman  so  easily  falls  with  a 
young  man  who  has  the  grace  and  style  of  Maximilien 
Longueville.  The  lady  talking  to  the  young  banker  was  a 
Neapolitan  duchess,  whose  eyes  shot  lightning  flashes,  and 
whose  skin  had  the  sheen  of  satin.  The  intimate  terms  on 
which  Longueville  affected  to  be  with  her  stung  Mademoiselle 
de  Fontaine  all  the  more  because  she  had  just  given  her  lover 
back  twenty  times  as  much  tenderness  as  she  had  ever  felt 
for  him  before. 

"Yes,  monsieur,  in  my  country  true  love  can  make  every 
kind  of  sacrifice,"  the  Duchess  was  saying,  with  a  simper. 

"You  have  more  passion  than  Frenchwomen,"  said  Maxi- 
milien, whose  burning  gaze  fell  on  Emilie.  "They  are  all 
vanity." 

"Monsieur,"  Emilie  eagerly  interposed,  "is  it  not  very 
wrong  to  calumniate  your  own  country.  Devotion  is  to  be 
found  in  every  nation." 

"Do  you  imagine,  mademoiselle,"  retorted  the  Italian,  with 
a  sardonic  smile,  "that  a  Parisian  would  be  capable  of  fol- 
lowing her  lover  all  over  the  world?" 


118 


THE  BALL  AT  SCEAUX 


^^Oh,  madame,  let  ns  understand  each  other.  She  would 
follow  him  to  a  desert  and  live  in  a  tent,  but  not  to  sit  in  a 
shop." 

A  disdainful  gesture  completed  her  meaning.  Thus,  under 
the  influence  of  her  disastrous  education,  Emilie  for  the  sec- 
ond time  killed  her  budding  happiness,  and  destroyed  its 
prospects  of  life.  Maximilien's  apparent  indifference,  and  a 
woman's  smile,  had  wrung  from  her  one  of  those  sarcasms 
whose  treacherous  zest  always  led  her  astray. 

"Mademoiselle,''  said  Longueville,  in  a  low  voice,  under 
cover  of  the  noise  made  by  the  ladies  as  they  rose  from  the 
table,  "no  one  will  ever  more  ardently  desire  your  happi- 
ness than  I;  permit  me  to  assure  you  of  this,  as  I  am  taking 
leave  of  you.    I  am  starting  for  Italy  in  a  few  days." 

"With  a  Duchess,  no  doubt?" 

"No,  but  perhaps  with  a  mortal  blow." 

"Is  not  that  pure  fancy?"  asked  Emilie,  with  an  anxious 
glance. 

"No,"  he  replied.    "There  are  wounds  which  never  heal." 
"You  are  not  to  go,"  said  the  girl,  imperiously,  and  she 
smiled. 

"I  shall  go,"  replied  Maximilien,  gravely. 
"You  will  find  me  married  on  your  return,  I  warn  you," 
she  said  coquettishly. 
"I  hope  so." 

"Impertinent  wretch !"  she  exclaimed.  "How  cruel  a  re- 
venge !" 

A  fortnight  later  Maximilien  set  out  with  his  sister  Clara 
for  the  warm  and  poetic  scenes  of  beautiful  Italy,  leaving 
Mademoiselle  de  Fontaine  a  prey  to  the  most  vehement  re- 
gret. The  young  Secretar}^  to  the  Embassy  took  up  his 
brother's  quarrel,  and  contrived  to  take  signal  vengeance 
on  Emilie's  disdain  by  making  known  the  occasion  of  the 
lovers'  separation.  He  repaid  his  fair  partner  with  interest 
all  the  sarcasm  with  which  she  had  formerly  attacked  Maxi- 
milien, and  often  made  more  than  one  Excellency  smile  by 
describing  the  fair  foe  of  the  counting-house,  the  amazon 


THE  BALL  AT  SCEAUX 


119 


who  preached  a  crusade  against  bankers,  the  young  girl  whose 
love  had  evaporated  before  a  bale  of  muslin.  The  Comte  d(? 
Fontaine  was  obliged  to  use  his  influence  to  procure  an  ap- 
pointment to  Eussia  for  Auguste  Longueville  in  order  to  pro- 
tect his  daughter  from  the  ridicule  heaped  upon  her  by  this 
dangerous  young  persecutor. 

Not  long  after,  the  Ministry  being  compelled  to  raise  a 
levy  of  peers  to  support  the  aristocratic  party,  trembling  in 
the  Upper  Chamber  under  the  lash  of  an  illustrious  writer, 
gave  Monsieur  Guiraudin  de  Longueville  a  peerage,  with  the 
title  of  Vicomte.  Monsieur  de  Fontaine  also  obtained  a 
peerage,  the  reward  due  as  much  to  his  fidelity  in  evil  days 
as  to  his  name,  which  claimed  a  place  in  the  hereditary 
Chamber. 

About  this  time  Emilie,  now  of  age,  made,  no  doubt,  some 
f.erious  reflections  on  life,  for  her  tone  and  manners  changed 
perceptibly.  Instead,  of  amusing  herself  by  saying  spiteful 
things  to  her  uncle,  she  lavished  on  him.  the  most  affec- 
i;ionate  attentions ;  she  brought  him  his  stick  with  a  persever- 
ing devotion  that  made  the  cynical  smile,  she  gave  him  her 
arm,  rode  in  his  carriage,  and  accompanied  him  in  all  his 
drives;  she  even  persuaded  him  that  she  liked  the  smell  of 
tobacco,  and  read  him  his  favorite  paper  La  Quotidienne  in 
the  midst  of  clouds  of  smoke,  which  the  malicious  old  sailor 
intentionally  blew  over  her;  she  learned  piquet  to  be  a  match 
for  the  old  Count;  and  this  fantastic  damsel  even  listened 
without  impatience  to  his  periodical  narratives  of  the  battles 
of  the  Belle-Poule,  the  manoeuvres  of  the  Vilh  de  Paris,  M. 
de  Suffren's  first  expedition,  or  the  battle  of  Aboukir. 

Though  the  old  sailor  had  often  said  that  he  knew  his  longi- 
tude and  latitude  too  well  to  allow  himself  to  be  captured 
by  a  young  corvette,  one  fine  morning  Paris  drawing-rooms 
heard  the  news  of  the  marriage  of  Mademoiselle  de  Fontaine 
to  the  Comte  de  Kergarouet.  The  young  Countess  gave 
splendid  entertainments  to  drown  thought ;  but  she,  no  doubt, 
found  a  void  at  the  bottom  of  the  whirlpool ;  luxury  was  in- 
elfectual  to  disguise  the  emptiness  and  grief  of  her  sorrow- 


120 


THE  BALL  AT  SCEAUX 


ing  soul;  for  the  most  part,  in  spite  of  tlie  flashes  of  as- 
amed  gaiety,  her  beautiful  face  expressed  unspoken  melan- 
choly. Emilie  appeared,  however,  full  of  attentions  and 
consideration  for  her  old  husband,  who,  on  retiring  to  his 
rooms  at  night,  to  the  sounds  of  a  lively  band,  would  often 
say,  "I  do  not  know  myself.  Was  I  to  wait  till  the  age  of 
seventy-two  to  embark  as  pilot  on  board  the  Belle  Emilie 
after  twenty  years  of  matrimonial  galleys?" 

The  conduct  of  the  young  Countess  was  marked  by  such 
strictness  that  the  most  clear-sighted  criticism  had  no  fault 
to  find  with  her.  Lookers  on  chose  to  think  that  the  vice-ad- 
miral had  reserved  the  right  of  disposing  of  his  fortune  to 
keep  his  wife  more  tightly  in  hand;  but  this  was  a  notion 
as  insulting  to  the  uncle  as  to  the  niece.  Their  conduct  was 
indeed  so  delicately  judicious  that  the  men  who  were  most 
interested  in  guessing  the  secrets  of  the  couple  could  never 
decide  whether  the  old  Count  regarded  her  as  a  wife  or  a/3 
a  daughter.  He  was  often  heard  to  say  that  he  had  rescued 
his  niece  as  a  castaway  after  shipwreck;  and  that,  for  his  part, 
he  had  never  taken  a  mean  advantage  of  hospitality  when  he 
had  saved  an  enemy  from  the  fury  of  the  storm.  Thougli 
the  Countess  aspired  to  reign  in  Paris  and  tried  to  keejj 
pace  with  Mesdames  the  Duchesses  de  Maufrigneuse  and  de 
Chaulieu,  the  Marquises  d'Espard  and  d'Aiglemont,  tht) 
Comtesses  Feraud,  de  Montcornet,  and  de  Eestaud,  Madame 
de  Camps,  and  Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  she  did  not  yield 
to  the  addresses  of  the  young  Vicomte  de  Portenduere,  who 
made  her  his  idol. 

Two  years  after  her  marriage,  in  one  of  the  old  drawing- 
rooms  in  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain,  where  she  was  ad- 
mired for  her  character,  worthy  of  the  old  school,  Emilie 
heard  the  Vicomte  de  Longueville  announced.  In  the  corner 
of  the  room  where  she  was  sitting,  playing  piquet  with  the 
Bishop  of  Persepolis,  her  agitation  was  not  observed;  she 
turned  her  head  and  saw  her  former  lover  come  in,  in  all  the 
freshness  of  youth.  His  father's  death,  and  then  that  of  his 
brother,  killed  by  the  severe  climate  of  Saint-Petersburg,  had 


THE  BALL  AT  SCEAUX 


12i 


placed  on  Maximilien's  head  the  hereditary  plumes  of  the 
French  peer's  hat.  His  fortune  matched  his  learning  and 
his  merits;  only  the  day  before  his  youthful  and  fervid  elo- 
quence had  dazzled  the  Assembly.  At  this  moment  he  stood 
before  the  Countess,  free,  and  graced  with  all  the  advantages 
she  had  formerly  required  of  her  ideal.  Every  mother  with  a 
daughter  to  marry  made  amiable  advances  to  a  man  gifted 
with  the  virtues  which  they  attributed  to  him,  as  they  admired 
his  attractive  person;  but  Emilie  knew,  better  than  any  one, 
that  the  Vicomte  de  Longueville  had  the  steadfast  nature 
in  which  a  wise  woman  sees  a  guarantee  of  happiness.  She 
looked  at  the  admiral  who,  to  use  his  favorite  expression, 
seemed  likely  to  hold  his  course  for  a  long  time  yet,  and 
cursed  the  follies  of  her  youth. 

At  this  moment  Monsieur  de  Persepolis  said  with  Epis- 
copal grace:  "Fair  lady,  you  have  thrown  away  the  king  of 
hearts — I  have  won.  But  do  not  regret  your  money.  I  keep 
)t  for  my  little  seminaries." 

Paris,  December  1820. 


THE  PURSE 


To  Sofka. 

"Have  you  observed,  mademoiselle,  that  the  painters  and 
sculptors  of  the  Middle  Ages,  when  they  placed  two  figures  in 
adoration,  one  on  each  side  of  a  fair  Saint,  never  failed  to  give 
them  a  family  lilieness?  When  you  here  see  your  name  among 
those  that  are  dear  to  me,  and  under  whose  auspices  I  place  my 
works,  remember  that  touching  harmony,  and  you  will  see  in 
this  not  so  much  an  act  of  homage  as  an  expression  of  the 
ibrotherly  affection  of  your  devoted  servant, 

"De  Balzac." 

For  souls  to  whom  effusiveness  is  easy  there  is  a  delicious 
hour  that  falls  when  it  is  not  yet  night,  but  is  no  longer  day ; 
the  twilight  gleam  throws  softened  lights  or  tricksy  reflec- 
tions on  every  object,  and  favors  a  dreamy  mood  which 
vaguely  weds  itself  to  the  play  of  light  and  shade.  The 
silence  which  generally  prevails  at  that  time  makes  it  par- 
ticularly dear  to  artists,  who  grow  contemplative,  stand  a  few 
paces  back  from  the  pictures  on  which  they  can  no  longer 
work,  and  pass  judgment  on  them,  rapt  by  the  subject  whose 
most  recondite  meaning  then  flashes  on  the  inner  eye  of  genius. 
He  who  has  never  stood  pensive  by  a  friend^s  side  in  such 
an  hour  of  poetic  dreaming  can  hardly  understand  its  in- 
expressible soothingness.  Favored  by  the  clear-obscure,  the 
material  skill  employed  by  art  to  produce  illusion  entirely 
disappears.  If  the  work  is  a  picture,  the  figures  represented 
seem  to  speak  and  walk;  the  shade  is  shadow,  the  light  is  day; 
the  flesh  lives,  eyes  move,  blood  flows  in  their  veins,  and 

(123) 


1^4 


THE  PURSE 


stuffs  have  a  changing  sheen.  Imagination  helps  the  realism 
of  every  detail,  and  only  sees  the  beauties  of  the  work.  At 
that  hour  illusion  reigns  despotically;  perhaps  it  wakes  at 
nightfall !  Is  not  illusion  a  sort  of  night  to  the  mind,  which 
we  people  with  dreams?  Illusion  then  unfolds  its  wings,  it 
bears  the  soul  aloft  to  the  world  of  fancies,  a  world  full  of 
voluptuous  imaginings,  where  the  artist  forgets  the  real  world, 
yesterday  and  the  morrow,  the  future — everything  down 
to  its  miseries,  the  good  and  the  evil  alike. 

At  this  magic  hour  a  young  painter,  a  man  of  talent,  who 
saw  in  art  nothing  but  Art  itself,  was  perched  on  a  step- 
ladder  which  helped  him  to  work  at  a  large  high  painting, 
now  nearly  finished.  Criticising  himself,  honestly  admiring 
himself,  floating  on  the  current  of  his  thoughts,  he  then  lost 
himself  in  one  of  those  meditative  moods  which  ravish  and 
elevate  the  soul,  soothe  it,  and  comfort  it.  His  reverie  had  no 
doubt  lasted  a  long  time.  Night  fell.  Whether  he  meant 
to  come  down  from  his  perch,  or  whether  he  made  some  ill- 
judged  movement,  believing  himself  to  be  on  the  floor — the 
event  did  not  allow  of  his  remembering  exactly  the  cause  of 
his  accident — he  fell,  his  head  struck  a  footstool,  he  lost  con- 
sciousness and  lay  motionless  during  a  space  of  time  of 
which  he  knew  not  the  length. 

A  sweet  voice  roused  him  from  the  stunned  condition  into 
which  he  had  sunk.  When  he  opened  his  eyes  the  flash  of  a 
bright  light  made  him  close  them  again  immediately;  but 
through  the  mist  that  veiled  his  senses  he  heard  the  whis- 
pering of  two  women,  and  felt  two  young,  two  timid  hands 
on  which  his  head  was  resting.  He  soon  recovered  conscious- 
ness, and  by  the  light  of  an  old-fashioned  Argand  lamp  he 
could  make  out  the  most  charming  girl's  face  he  had  ever 
seen,  one  of  those  heads  which  are  often  supposed  to  be  a 
freak  of  the  brush,  but  which  to  him  suddenly  realized  the 
theories  of  the  ideal  beauty  which  every  artist  creates  for  him- 
self and  whence  his  art  proceeds.  The  features  of  the  un- 
known belonged,  so  to  say,  to  the  refined  and  delicate  type 
of  Pmdhon's  school,  but  had  also  the  poetic  sentiment  which 


THE  PURSE 


125 


Girodet  gave  to  the  inventions  of  his  phantasy.  The  freshness 
of  the  temples,  the  reguJar  arch  of  the  eyebrows,  the  purity  of 
outline,  the  virginal  innocence  so  plainly  stamped  on  every 
feature  of  her  countenance,  made  the  girl  a  perfect  creature. 
Her  figure  was  slight  and  graceful,  and  frail  in  form.  Her 
dress,  though  simple  and  neat,  revealed  neither  wealth  nor 
penury. 

As  he  recovered  his  senses,  the  painter  gave  expression  to 
his  admiration  by  a  look  of  surprise,  and  stammered  some 
confused  thanks.  He  found  a  handkerchief  pressed  to  his 
forehead,  and  above  the  smell  peculiar  to  a  studio,  he  recog- 
nized the  strong  odor  of  ether,  applied  no  doubt  to  revive 
him  from  his  fainting  fit.  Finally  he  saw  an  old  woman,  look- 
ing like  a  marquise  of  the  old  school,  who  held  the  lamp 
and  was  advising  the  young  girl. 

^'Monsieur,"  said  the  younger  woman  in  reply  to  one  of 
the  questions  put  by  the  painter  during  the  few  minutes  when 
he  was  still  under  the  influence  of  the  vagueness  that  the 
shock  had  produced  in  his  ideas,  "my  mother  and  I  heard  the 
noise  of  your  fall  on  the  floor,  and  we  fancied  we  heard  a 
groan.  The  silence  following  on  the  crash  alarmed  us,  and  we 
hurried  up.  Finding  the  key  in  the  latch,  we  happily  took  the 
liberty  of  entering,  and  we  found  you  lying  motionless  on  the 
ground.  My  mother  went  to  fetch  what  was  needed  to  bathe 
your  head  and  revive  you.  You  huYe  cut  your  forehead — 
there.    Do  you  feel  it?'' 

"Yes,  I  do  now,"  he  replied. 

"Oh,  it  will  be  nothing,"  said  the  old  mother.  "Happily 
your  head  rested  against  this  lay-figure." 

"I  feel  infinitely  better,"  replied  the  painter.  "I  need 
nothing  further  but  a  hackney  cab  to  take  me  home.  The 
porter's  wife  will  go  for  one." 

He  tried  to  repeat  his  thanks  to  the  two  strangers;  but 
dt  each  sentence  the  elder  lady  interrupted  him,  saying,  "To- 
morrow, monsieur,  pray  be  careful  to  put  on  leeches,  or  to  be 
bled,  and  drink  a  few  cups  of  something  healing.  A  fall  may 
be  dajigerous." 


126 


THE  rURSE 


The  young  girl  stole  a  look  at  the  painter  and  at  the  pict- 
ures in  the  studio.  Her  expression  and  her  glances  revealed 
perfect  propriety;  her  curiosity  seemed  rather  absence  of 
mind,  and  her  eyes  seemed  to  speak  the  interest  which  women 
feel,  with  the  most  engaging  spontaneity,  in  everything  which 
causes  us  suffering.  The  two  strangers  seemed  to  forget  the 
painter's  works  in  the  painter's  mishap.  When  he  had  re- 
assured them  as  to  his  condition  they  left,  looking  at  him 
with  an  anxiety  that  was  equally  free  from  insistence  and 
from  familiarity,  without  asking  any  indiscreet  questions, 
or  trying  to  incite  him  to  any  wish  to  visit  them.  Their  pro- 
ceedings all  bore  the  hall-mark  of  natural  refinement  and 
good  taste.  Their  noble  and  simple  manners  at  first  made  no 
great  impression  on  the  painter,  but  subsequently,  as  he  re- 
called all  the  details  of  the  incident,  he  was  greatly  struck 
by  them. 

When  they  reached  the  floor  beneath  that  occupied  by  the 
painter's  studio,  the  old  lady  gently  observed,  "Adelaide,  you 
left  the  door  open." 

"That  was  to  come  to  my  assistance,"  said  the  painter,  with 
a  grateful  smile. 

'TTou  came  down  just  now,  mother,"  replied  the  young  girl, 
with  a  blush. 

"Would  you  like  us  to  accompany  you  all  the  way  down- 
stairs ?"  asked  the  mother.    "The  stairs  are  dark." 
"No,  thank  you,  indeed,  madame ;  I  am  much  better." 
"Hold  tightly  by  the  rail." 

The  two  women  remained  on  the  landing  to  light  the  young 
man,  listening  to  the  sound  of  his  steps. 

In  order  to  set  forth  clearly  all  the  exciting  and  unexpected 
interest  this  scene  might  have  for  the  young  painter,  it  must 
be  told  that  he  had  only  a  few  days  since  established  his 
studio  in  the  attics  of  this  house,  situated  in  the  darkest  and, 
therefore,  the  most  muddy  part  of  the  Eue  de  Suresnes, 
almost  opposite  the  Church  of  the  Madeleine,  and  quite  close 
to  his  rooms  in  the  Kue  des  Champs-Elysees.    The  fame  his 


THE  PURSE 


127 


talent  had  won  him  having  made  him  one  of  the  artists 
most  dear  to  his  country,  he  was  beginning  to  feel  free  from 
want,  and,  to  use  his  own  expression,  was  enjoying  his  last 
privations.  Instead  of  going  to  his  work  in  one  of  the  studios 
near  the  city  gates,  where  the  moderate  rents  had  hitherto 
been  in  proportion  to  his  humble  earnings,  he  had  gratified  a 
wish  that  was  new  every  morning,  by  sparing  himself  a  long 
walk,  and  the  loss  of  much  time,  now  more  valuable  than 
ever. 

No  man  in  the  world  vrould  have  inspired  feelings  of 
greater  interest  than  Hippolyte  Schinner  if  he  would  ever 
have  consented  to  make  acquaintance ;  but  he  did  not  lightly 
entrust  to  others  the  secrets  of  his  life.  He  was  the  idol  of 
a  necessitous  mother,  who  had  brought  him  up  at  the  cost  of 
the  severest  privations.  Mademoiselle  Schinner,  the  daugh- 
ter of  an  Alsatian  farmer,  had  never  been  married.  Her 
tender  soul  had  been  cruelly  crushed,  long  ago,  by  a  rich 
man,  who  did  not  pride  himself  on  any  great  delicacy  in 
his  love  affairs.  The  day  when,  as  a  young  girl,  in  all  the 
radiance  of  her  beauty  and  all  the  triumph  of  her  life,  she 
suffered,  at  the  cost  of  her  heart  and  her  sweet  illusions, 
the  disenchantment  which  falls  on  us  so  slowly  and  yet  so 
quickly — for  we  try  to  postpone  as  long  as  possible  our  be- 
lief in  evil,  and  it  seems  to  come  too  soon — that  day  was 
a  whole  age  of  reflection,  and  it  was  also  a  day  of  religious 
thought  and  resignation.  She  refused  the  alms  of  the  man 
who  had  betrayed  her,  renounced  the  world,  and  made  a 
glory  of  her  shame.  She  gave  herself  up  entirely  to  her 
motherly  love,  seeking  in  it  all  her  joys  in  exchange  for 
the  social  pleasures  to  which  she  bid  farewell.  She  lived  by 
work,  saving  up  a  treasure  in  her  son.  And,  in  after  years, 
a  day,  an  hour  repaid  her  amply  for  the  long  and  weary 
sacrifices  of  her  indigence. 

At  the  last  exhibition  her  son  had  received  the  Cross  of  the 
Legion  of  Honor.  The  newspapers,  unanimous  in  hailing  an 
unknown  genius,  still  rang  with  sincere  praises.  Artists 
themselves  acknowledged  Schinner  as  a  master,  and  dealers 


128 


THE  PURSE 


covered  his  canvases  with  gold  pieces.  At  five-and-twenty 
Hippolyte  Schinner^  to  whom  his  mother  had  transmitted 
lier  woman^s  soul,  understood  more  clearly  than  ever  his 
position  in  the  world.  Anxious  to  restore  to  his  mother  the 
pleasures  of  which  society  had  so  long  robbed  her,  he  lived 
for  her,  hoping  by  the  aid  of  fame  and  fortune  to  see  her 
one  day  happy,  rich,  respected,  and  surrounded  by  men  of 
mark.  Schinner  had  therefore  chosen  his  friends  among 
the  most  honorable  and  distinguished  men.  Fastidious  in  the 
selection  of  his  intimates,  he  desired  to  raise  still  further 
a  position  which  his  talent  had  placed  high.  The  work  to 
which  he  had  devoted  himself  from  boyhood,  by  compelling 
him  to  dwell  in  solitude — the  mother  of  great  thoughts — 
had  left  him  the  beautiful  beliefs  which  grace  the  early  days 
of  life.  His  adolescent  soul  was  not  closed  to  any  of  the 
thousand  bashful  emotions  by  which  a  young  man  is  a  being 
apart,  whose  heart  abounds  in  joys,  in  poetry,  in  virginal 
hopes,  puerile  in  the  eyes  of  men  of  the  world,  but  deep  be- 
cause they  are  single-hearted. 

He  was  endowed  with  the  gentle  and  polite  manners  which 
speak  to  the  soul,  and  fascinate  even  those  who  do  not  under- 
stand  them.  He  was  well  made.  His  voice,  coming  from, 
his  heart,  stirred  that  of  others  to  noble  sentiments,  and  bore 
witness  to  his  true  modesty  by  a  certain  ingenuousness  of 
tone.  Those  who  saw  him  felt  drawn  to  him  by  that  attrac- 
tion of  the  moral  nature  which  men  of  science  are  happily 
unable  to  analyze ;  they  would  detect  in  it  some  phenomenon 
of  galvanism,  or  the  current  of  I  know  not  what  fluid,  and 
express  our  sentiments  in  a  formula  of  ratios  of  oxygen  and 
electricity. 

These  details  will  perhaps  explain  to  strong-minded  persons 
and  to  men  of  fashion  why,  in  the  absence  of  the  porter  whom 
he  had  sent  to  the  end  of  the  Eue  de  la  Madeleine  to  call 
him  a  coach,  Hippolyte  Schinner  did  not  ask  the  man's  wife 
any  questions  concerning  the  two  women  whose  kindness  of 
heart  had  shown  itself  in  his  behalf.  But  though  he  replied 
Yes  or  No  to  the  inquiries,  natural  under  the  circumstances. 


THE  PURSE 


129 


which  the  good  woman  made  as  to  his  accident,  and  the 
friendly  intervention  of  the  tenants  occupying  the  fourth 
floor,  he  could  not  hinder  her  from  following  the  instinct  of 
her  kind;  she  mentioned  the  two  strangers,  speaking  of  them 
as  prompted  by  the  interests  of  her  policy  and  the  subter- 
ranean opinions  of  the  porter's  lodge. 

"Ah,"  said  she,  ^^they  were,  no  doubt.  Mademoiselle  Lesei- 
gneur  and  her  mother,  who  have  lived  here  these  four  years. 
We  do  not  yet  know  exactly  what  these  ladies  do;  in  the  morn- 
ing, only  till  the  hour  of  noon,  an  old  woman  who  is  half 
deaf,  and  who  never  speaks  any  more  than  a  wall,  comes  in 
to  help  them ;  in  the  evening,  two  or  three  old  gentlemen,  with 
loops  of  ribbon,  like  you,  monsieur,  come  to  see  them,  and 
often  stay  very  late.  One  of  them  comes  in  a  carriage  with 
servants,  and  is  said  to  have  sixty  thousand  francs  a  year. 
However,  they  are  very  quiet  tenants,  as  you  are,  monsieur; 
,md  economical !  they  live  on  nothing,  and  as  soon  as  a  letter 
:is  brought  they  pay  for  it.  It  is  a  queer  thing,  monsieur,  the 
ifnother's  name  is  not  the  same  as  the  daughter's.  Ah,  but 
when  they  go  for  a  walk  in  the  Tuileries,  mademoiselle  is  very 
ifmart,  and  she  never  goes  out  but  she  is  followed  by  a  lot 
*;if  young  men;  but  she  shuts  the  door  in  their  face,  and  she 
j.s  quite  right.   The  proprietor  would  never  allow  " 

The  coach  having  come,  Hippolyte  heard  no  more,  and 
went  home.  His  mother,  to  whom  he  related  his  adventure, 
dressed  his  wound  afresh,  and  would  not  allow  him  to  go  to 
the  studio  next  day.  After  taking  advice,  various  treatments 
were  prescribed,  and  Hippolyte  remained  at  home  three  days. 
During  this  retirement  his  idle  fancy  recalled  vividly,  bit 
by  bit,  the  details  of  the  scene  that  had  ensued  on  his  fainting 
fit.  The  young  girl's  profile  was  clearly  projected  against 
the  darkness  of  his  inward  vision;  he  saw  once  more  the» 
mother's  faded  features,  or  he  felt  the  touch  of  Adelaide's, 
hands.  He  remembered  some  gesture  which  at  first  had  not 
greatly  struck  him,  but  whose  exquisite  grace  was  thrown  into 
relief  by  memory ;  then  an  attitude,  or  the  tones  of  a  melodious 
voice,  enhanced  by  the  distance  of  remembrance,  suddenly 


130 


THE  PUR8i£i 


rose  before  him,  as  objects  plunging  to  the  bottom  of  deep 
waters  come  back  to  the  surface. 

So,  on  the  day  when  he  could  resume  work,  he  went  early  to 
his  studio;  but  the  visit  he  undoubtedly  had  a  right  to  pay  to 
his  neighbors  was  the  true  cause  of  his  haste ;  he  had  already 
forgotten  the  pictures  he  had  begun.  At  the  moment  when  a 
passion  throws  off  its  swaddling  clothes,  inexplicable  pleasures 
are  felt,  known  to  those  who  have  loved.  So  some  readers 
will  understand  why  the  painter  mounted  the  stairs  to  the 
fourth  floor  but  slowly,  and  will  be  in  the  secret  of  the  throbs 
that  followed  each  other  so  rapidly  in  his  heart  at  the  mo- 
ment when  he  saw  the  humble  brown  door  of  the  rooms  in- 
habited by  Mademoiselle  Leseigneur.  This  girl,  whose  name 
was  not  the  same  as  her  mother's,  had  aroused  the  young 
painter's  deepest  sympathies;  he  chose  to  fancy  some  simi- 
larity between  himself  and  her  as  to  their  position,  and  at- 
tributed to  her  misfortunes  of  birth  akin  to  his  own.  All 
the  time  he  worked  Hippol5rte  gave  himself  veiy  willingly 
to  thoughts  of  love,  and  made  a  great  deal  of  noise  to  compel 
the  two  ladies  to  think  of  him,  as  he  was  thinking  of  them, 
He  stayed  late  at  the  studio  and  dined  there;  then,  at  about 
seven  o'clock,  he  went  down  to  call  on  his  neighbors. 

No  painter  of  manners  has  ventured  to  initiate  us — perhaps 
out  of  modesty — ^into  the  really  curious  privacy  of  certain 
Parisian  existences,  into  the  secret  of  the  dwellings  whence 
emerge  such  fresh  and  elegant  toilets,  such  brilliant  women,, 
who,  rich  on  the  surface,  allow  the  signs  of  very  doubtful 
comfort  to  peep  out  in  every  part  of  their  home.  If,  here,  the 
picture  is  too  boldly  drawn,  if  you  find  it  tedious  in  places, 
do  not  blame  the  description,  which  is,  indeed,  part  and  par- 
cel of  my  story;  for  the  appearance  of  the  rooms  inhabited 
by  his  two  neighbors  had  a  great  influence  on  the  feelings 
and  hopes  of  Hippolyte  Schinner. 

The  house  belonged  to  one  of  those  proprietors  in  whom 
there  is  a  foregone  and  profound  horror  of  repairs  and  deco- 
ration, one  of  the  men  who  regard  their  position  as  Paris 
house-owners  as  a  business.     In  the  vast  chain  of  moral 


THE  PURSE 


135 


species,  these  people  hold  a  middle  place  between  the  miser 
and  the  usurer.  Optimists  in  their  own  interests,  they  are 
all  faithful  to  the  Austrian  status  quo.  If  you  speak  of 
moving  a  cupboard  or  a  door,  of  opening  the  most  indis- 
pensable air-hole,  their  eyes  flash,  their  bile  rises,  they  rear 
like  a  frightened  horse.  When  the  wind  blows  down  a  few 
chimney-pots  they  are  quite  ill,  and  deprive  themselves  of  an 
evening  at  the  Gymnase  or  the  Porte-Saint-Martin  Theatre^ 
'^on  account  of  repairs.^'  Hippolyte,  who  had  seen  the  per- 
formance gratis  of  a  comical  scene  with  Monsieur  Molineux  as 
concerning  certain  decorative  repairs  in  his  studio,  was  not 
surprised  to  see  the  dark  greasy  paint,  the  oily  stains,  spots, 
and  other  disagreeable  accessories  that  varied  the  woodwork. 
And  these  stigmata  of  poverty  are  not  altogether  devoid  of 
poetry  in  an  artist's  eyes. 

Mademoiselle  Leseigneur  herself  opened  the  door.  On 
recognizing  the  young  artist  she  bowed,  and  at  the  same  time, 
with  Parisian  adroitness,  and  with  the  presence  of  mind  that 
pride  can  lend,  she  turned  round  to  shut  a  door  in  a  glass  par- 
tition through  which  Hippolyte  might  have  caught  sight  of 
some  linen  hung  by  lines  over  patent  ironing  stoves,  an  old 
camp-bed,  some  wood-embers,  charcoal,  irons,  a  filter,  the 
household  crockery,  and  all  the  utensils  familiar  to  a  small 
household.  Muslin  curtains,  fairly  white,  carefully  screened 
this  lumber-room — a  capJiarnaum,  as  the  French  call  such  a 
domestic  laboratory, — which  was  lighted  by  windows  looking 
out  on  a  neighboring  yard. 

Hippolyte,  with  the  quick  eye  of  an  artist,  saw  the  uses, 
the  furniture,  the  general  effect  and  condition  of  this  first 
room,  thus  cut  in  half.  The  more  honorable  half,  which 
served  both  as  ante-room  and  dining-room,  was  hung  with  an 
old  salmon-rose-colored  paper,  with  a  flock  border,  the  manu- 
facture of  Eeveillon,  no  doubt ;  the  holes  and  spots  had  been 
carefully  touched  over  with  wafers.  Prints  representing  the 
battles  of  Alexander,  by  Lebrun,  in  frames  with  the  gilding 
rubbed  oli.  wer^  symmetrically  arranged  on  the  walls.  In 


132 


THE  PURSE 


the  middle  stood  a  massive  mahogany  table,  old-fashioned  in 
shape,  and  worn  at  the  edges.  A  small  stove,  whose  thin 
straight  pipe  was  scarcely  visible,  stood  in  front  of  the  chim- 
ney-place, bnt  the  hearth  was  occupied  by  a  cupboard.  By 
a  strange  contrast  the  chairs  showed  some  remains  of  former 
splendor ;  they  were  of  carved  mahogany,  but  the  red  morocco 
seats,  the  gilt  nails  and  reeded  backs,  showed  as  many  scars 
as  an  old  sergeant  of  the  Imperial  Guard. 

This  room  did  duty  as  a  museum  of  certain  objects,  such  as 
are  never  seen  but  in  this  kind  of  amphibious  household; 
nameless  objects  with  the  stamp  at  once  of  luxury  and  penury. 
Among  other  curiosities  Hippolyte  noticed  a  splendidly  fin- 
ished telescope,  hanging  over  the  small  discolored  glass  that 
decorated  the  chimney.  To  harmonize  with  this  strange 
(jollection  of  furniture,  there  was,  between  the  chim- 
mey  and  the  partition,  a  wretched  sideboard  of  painted 
wood,  pretending  to  be  mahogany,  of  all  woods  the 
most  impossible  to  imitate.  But  the  slippery  red  quarries, 
ihe  shabby  little  rugs  in  front  of  the  chairs,  and  all 
j;he  furniture,  shone  with  the  hard  rubbing  cleanliness  which 
'lends  a  treacherous  lustre  to  old  things  by  making  their  de- 
tects, their  age,  and  their  long  service  still  more  conspicuous. 
An  indescribable  odor  pervaded  the  room,  a  mingled  smell 
of  the  exhalations  from  the  lumber  room,  and  the  vapors  of. 
the  dining-room,  with  those  from  the  stairs^  though  the  win- 
dow was  partly  open.  The  air  from  the  street  fluttered  the 
dusty  curtains,  which  were  carefully  drawn  so  as  to  hide  the 
window  bay,  where  former  tenants  had  testified  to  their  pres- 
ence by  various  ornamental  additions — a  sort  of  domestic 
fresco. 

Adelaide  hastened  to  open  the  door  of  the  inner  room,  where 
she  announced  the  painter  with  evident  pleasure.  Hippolyte, 
who,  of  yore,  had  seen  the  same  signs  of  poverty  in  his' 
mother's  home,  noted  them  with  the  singular  vividness  of 
impression  which  characterizes  the  earliest  acquisitions  of 
memory,  and  entered  into  the  details  of  this  existence  better 
than  any  one  else  would  have  done.  As  he  recognized  the  facts 


THE  PURSE 


133 


of  his  life  as  a  child,  tlio  kind  young  fellow  felt  neither 
scorn  for  disguised  misfortane  nor  pride  in  the  luxury  he 
had  lately  conquered  for  his  mother. 

"Well,  monsieur,  I  hope  you  no  longer  feel  the  effects  of 
your  fall/'  said  the  old  lady,  rising  from  an  antique  armchair 
that  stood  by  the  chimney,  and  offering  him  a  seat. 

"No,  madanie.  1  have  come  to  thank  you  for  the  kind  care 
you  gave  me,  and  above  all  mademoiselle,  who  heard  me  fall.'' 

As  he  uttered  this  speech,  stamped  with  the  exquisite  stu- 
pidity given  to  the  mind  by  the  first  disturbing  symptoms  of 
true  love,  Hippolyte  looked  at  the  young  girl.  Adelaide  wa^ 
lighting  the  Argand  lamp,  no  doubt  that  she  might  get  rid 
of  a  tallow  candle  fixed  in  a  large  copper  flat-candlestick,  and 
graced  with  a  heavy  fluting  of  grease  from  its  guttering.  She, 
answered  with  a  slight  bow,  carried  the  flat  candlestick  mid 
the  ante-room,  came  back,  and  after  placing  the  lamp  on  th(!! 
chimney  shelf,  seated  herself  by  her  mother,  a  little  behind 
the  painter,  so  as  to  be  able  to  look  at  him  at  her  ease,  whil(? 
apparently  much  interested  in  the  burning  of  the  lamp;  tb^ 
flame,  checked  by  the  damp  in  a  dingy  chimney,  sputtered 
as  it  struggled  with  a  charred  and  badly-trimmed  wick.  Hip- 
polyte, seeing  the  large  mirror  that  decorated  the  chimney- 
piece,  immediately  fixed  his  eyes  on  it  to  admire  Adelaide. 
Thus  the  girl's  little  stratagem  only  served  to  embarrass  them 
both. 

While  talking  with  Madame  Leseigneur,  for  Hippolyte 
called  her  so,  on  the  chance  of  being  right,  he  examined  the 
room,  but  unobtrusively  and  by  stealth. 

The  Egyptian  figures  on  the  iron  fire-dogs  were  scarcely 
visible,  the  hearth  was  so  heaped  with  cinders;  two  brands 
tried  to  meet  in  front  of  a  sham  log  of  firo-brick,  as  carefully 
buried  as  a  miser's  treasure  could  ever  be.  An  old  Aubusson 
carpet,  very  much  faded,  very  much  mended,  and  as  worn  as 
a  pensioner's  coat,  did  not  cover  the  whole  of  the  tiled  floor, 
and  the  cold  struck  to  his  feet.  The  walls  were  hung  with  a 
reddish  paper,  imitating  figured  silk  with  a  yellow  pattern. 
In  the  middle  of  the  wall  opposite  the  windows  the  painter 


134 


THE  PURSE 


saw  a  crack,  and  the  outline  marked  on  the  paper  of  double- 
doors,  shutting  off  a  recess  where  Madame  Le&eigneur  slept 
no  doubt,  a  faet  ill  disguised  by  a  sofa  in  front  of  the  door. 
Facing  the  chimney,  above  a  mahogany  chest  of  drawers  of 
handsome  and  tasteful  design,  was  the  portrait  of  an  officer 
of  rank,  which  the  dim  light  did  not  allow  him  to  see  well; 
but  from  what  he  could  make  out  he  thought  that  the  fearful 
daub  must  have  been  painted  in  China.  The  window-curtains 
of  red  silk  were  as  much  faded  as  the  furniture,  in  red  and 
yellow  worsted  work,  if  this  room  ^^contrived  a  double  debt  to 
pay/'  On  the  marble  top  of  the  chest  of  drawers  was  a  costly 
malachite  tray,  with  a  dozen  coffee  cups  magnificently  painted, 
and  made,  no  doubt,  at  Sevres.  On  the  chimney  shelf  stood 
the  omnipresent  Empire  clock:  a  warrior  driving  the  four 
horses  of  a  chariot,  whose  wheel  bore  the  numbers  of  the 
hours  on  its  spokes.  The  tapers  in  the  tall  candlesticks  were 
yellow  with  smoke,  and  at  each  corner  of  the  shelf  stood  a 
porcelain  vase  crowned  with  artificial  flowers  full  of  dust  and 
Btnck  into  moss. 

In  the  middle  of  the  room  Hippolyte  remarked  a  card- 
table  ready  for  play,  with  new  packs  of  cards.  For  an  ob- 
server there  was  something  heartrending  in  the  sight  of  this 
misery  painted  up  like  an  old  woman  who  wants  to  falsify 
her  face.  At  such  a  sight  every  man  of  sense  must  at  once 
have  stated  to  himself  this  obvious  dilemma — either  these 
two  women  are  honesty  itself,  or  they  live  by  intrigue  and 
gambling.  But  on  looking  at  Adelaide,  a  man  so  pure-minded 
as  Schinner  could  not  but  believe  in  her  perfect  innocence, 
and  ascribe  the  incoherence  of  the  furniture  to  honorable 
causes. 

"My  dear,"  said  the  old  lady  to  the  young  one,  "I  am  cold ; 
make  a  little  fire,  and  give  me  my  shawl." 

Adelaide  went  into  a  room  next  the  drawing-room, 
where  she  no  doubt  slept,  and  returned  bringing  her  mother 
a  cashmere  shawl,  which  when  new  must  have  been  very 
eostly;  the  pattern  was  Indian;  but  it  was  old,  faded,  and 
full  of  darns,  and  matched  the  furniture.    Madame  Lesei- 


THE  PURSE 


135 


gneur  wrapped  herself  in  it  very  artistically,  and  with  the 
readiness  of  an  old  woman  wlio  wishes  to  make  her  words 
seem  truth.  The  young  girl  ran  lightly  off  to  the  lumber- 
room  and  reappeared  with  a  bundle  of  small  wood,  which 
she  gallantly  threw  on  the  fire  to  revive  it. 

It  would  be  rather  difficult  to  reproduce  the  conversation 
which  followed  among  these  three  persons.  H.ippolyte,  guided 
by  the  tact  which  is  almost  always  the  outcome  of  misfortune 
suffered  in  early  youth,  dared  not  allow  himself  to  make  the 
least  remark  as  to  his  neighbors'  situation,  as  he  saw  all  about 
him  the  signs  of  ill-disguised  poverty.  The  simplest  question 
would  have  been  an  indiscretion,  and  could  only  be  ventured 
on  by  old  friendship.  The  painter  was  nevertheless  absorbed 
in  the  thought  of  this  concealed  penury,  it  pained  his  generous 
soul;  but  knowing  how  offensive  every  kind  of  pity  may  be, 
even  the  friendliest,  the  disparity  between  his  thoughts  and 
his  words  made  him  feel  uncomfortable. 

The  two  ladies  at  first  talked  of  painting,  for  women  easily 
guess  the  secret  embarrassment  of  a  first  call;  they  them.* 
selves  feel  it  perhaps,  and  the  nature  of  their  mind  supplie?i 
them  with  a  thousand  devices  to  put  an  end  to  it.  By  ques- 
tioning the  young  man  as  to  the  material  exercise  of  his  art, 
and  as  to  his  studies,  Adelaide  and  her  mother  emboldened 
him  to  talk.  The  indefinable  nothings  of  their  chat,  animated 
by  kind  feeling,  naturally  led  Hippolyte  to  flash  forth  remark?;^ 
or  reflections  which  showed  the  character  of  his  habits  and 
of  his  mind.  Trouble  had  prematurely  faded  the  old  lady's 
face,  formerly  handsome,  no  doubt ;  nothing  was  left  but  the 
more  prominent  features,  the  outline,  in  a  word,  the  skeleton 
of  a  countenance  of  which  the  whole  effect  indicated  great 
shrewdness  with  much  grace  in  the  play  of  the  eyes,  in  which 
could  be  discerned  the  expression  peculiar  to  women  of  the  old 
Court ;  an  expression  that  cannot  be  defined  in  words.  Those 
fine  and  mobile  features  might  quite  as  well  indicate  bad 
feelings,  and  suggest  astuteness  and  womanly  artifice  carried 
to  a  high  pitch  of  wickedness,  as  reveal  the  refined  delicacy 
of  a  beautiful  soul. 


136 


THE  PURSE 


Indeed,  the  face  of  a  woman  has  this  element  of  mj^stery 
to  puzzle  the  ordinary  observer,  that  the  difference  between 
frankness  and  duplicity,  the  genius  for  intrigue  and  the  genius 
of  the  heart,  is  there  inscrutable.  A  man  gifted  with  a  pene- 
trating eye  can  read  the  intangible  shade  of  difference  pro- 
duced by  a  more  or  less  curved  line,  a  more  or  less  deep  dimple, 
a  more  or  less  prominent  feature.  The  appreciation  of  these 
indications  lies  entirely  in  the  domain  of  intuition ;  this  alone 
can  lead  to  the  discovery  of  what  every  one  is  interested  in  con- 
cealing. The  old  lady's  face  was  like  the  room  she  inhabited ;  it 
seemed  as  difficult  to  detect  whether  this  squalor  covered  vice 
or  the  highest  virtue,  as  to  decide  whether  Adela'ide's  mother 
was  an  old  coquette  accustomed  to  weigh,  to  calculate,  to  sell 
everything,  or  a  loving  woman,  full  of  noble  feeling  and 
amiable  qualities.  But  at  Schinner's  age  the  first  impulse 
of  the  heart  is  to  believe  in  goodness.  And  indeed,  as  he 
studied  Adelaide's  noble  and  almost  haughty  brow,  as  he 
looked  into  her  eyes  full  of  soul  and  thought,  he  breathed, 
so  to  speak,  the  sweet  and  modest  fragrance  of  virtue.  In 
the  course  of  the  conversation  he  seized  an  opportunity  of 
discussing  portraits  in  general,  to  give  himself  a  pretext  for 
examining  the  frightful  pastel,  of  which  the  color  had  flown, 
and  the  chalk  in  many  places  fallen  away. 

"You  are  attached  to  that  picture  for  the  sake  of  the  like- 
ness, no  doubt,  mesdames,  for  the  drawing  is  dreadful?"  he 
said,  looking  at  Adelaide. 

"It  was  done  at  Calcutta,  m  great  haste,"  replied  the 
mother,  in  an  agitated  voice. 

She  gazed  at  the  formless  sketch  with  the  deep  absorption 
which  memories  of  happiness  produce  when  they  are  roused 
and  fall  on  the  heart  like  a  beneficent  dew  to  whose  refreshin,oc 
touch  we  love  to  yield  ourselves  up;  but  in  the  expression 
of  the  old  lady's  face  there  were  traces  too  of  perennial  regret. 
At  least,  it  was  thus  that  the  painter  chose  to  interpret  her 
attitude  and  countenance,  and  he  presently  sat  down  again 
by  her  side. 

"Madame,"  he  said,  "in  a  very  short  time  the  colors  of  that 


THE  rURSE 


137 


pastel  will  have  disappeared.  The  portrait  will  only  survive 
in  your  memory.  Where  you  will  still  see  the  face  that  is  dear 
to  you,  others  will  see  nothing  at  all.  Will  you  allow  me  to 
reproduce  the  likeness  on  canvas?  It  will  be  more  perma- 
nently recorded  then  than  on  that  sheet  of  paper.  Grant  me, 
I  beg,  as  a  neighborly  favor,  the  pleasure  of  doing  you  this 
service.  There  are  times  when  an  artist  is  glad  of  a  respite 
from  his  greater  undertakings  by  doing  work  of  less  lofty 
pretensions,  so  it  will  be  a  recreation  for  me  to  paint  that 
head.'^ 

The  old  lady  flushed  as  she  heard  the  painter's  words,  and 
Adelaide  shot  one  of  those  glances  of  deep  feeling  which 
seem  to  flash  from  the  soul.  Hippolyte  wanted  to  feel  some 
tie  linking  him  with  his  two  neighbors,  to  conquer  a  right  to 
mingle  in  their  life.  His  offer,  appealing  as  it  did  to  the 
liveliest  affections  of  the  heart,  was  the  only  one  he  could 
possibly  make;  it  gratified  his  pride  as  an  artist,  and  could 
not  hurt  the  feelings  of  the  ladies.  Madame  Leseigneur 
accepted,  without  eagerness  or  reluctance,  but  with  the  self  - 
possession  of  a  noble  soul,  fully  aware  of  the  character  of 
bonds  formed  by  such  an  obligation,  while,  at  the  same  time, 
they  are  its  highest  glo/y  as  a  proof  of  esteem. 

"I  fancy,"  said  the  painter,  "that  the  uniform  is  that  of 
a  naval  officer" 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "that  of  a  captain  in  command  of  a 
vessel.  Monsieur  de  Rouville — my  husband — died  at  Batavia 
in  consequence  of  a  wound  received  in  a  fight  with  an 
English  ship  they  fell  in  with  off  the  Asiatic  coast.  He  com- 
manded a  frigate  of  fifty-six  guns,  and  the  Revenge  carried 
ninety-six.  Ihe  struggle  was  very  unequal,  but  he  defended 
his  ship  so  bravely  that  he  held  out  till  nightfall  and  got 
away.  When  I  came  back  to  France  Bonaparte  was  not  yet 
in  power,  and  I  was  refused  a  pension.  When  I  applied 
again  for  it,  quite  lately,  I  was  sternly  informed  that  if  the 
Baron  de  Rouville  had  emigrated  I  should  not  have  lost  him; 
that  by  this  time  he  would  have  been  rear-admiral;  finally, 
bis  Excellency  quoted  I  know  not  what  degree  of  forfeiture. 


138 


THE  PURSB 


I  took  this  step,  to  which  I  was  urged  by  my  friends,  only  for 
the  sake  of  my  poor  Adelaide.  I  have  always  hated  the  idea 
of  holding  out  my  hand  as  a  beggar  in  the  name  of  a  grief 
which  deprives  a  woman  of  voice  and  strength.  I  do  not  like 
this  money  valuation  for  blood  irreparably  spilt  " 

^'Dear  mother,  this  subject  always  does  you  harm." 

In  response  to  this  remark  from  Adelaide,  the  Baronne 
Leseigneur  bowed,  and  was  silent. 

"Monsieur,^'  said  the  3''oung  girl  to  Hippolyte,  "I  had  sup- 
posed that  a  painter's  work  was  generally  fairly  quiet?" 

At  this  question  Schinner  colored,  remembering  the  noise 
he  had  made.  Adelaide  said  no  more,  and  spared  him  a  false- 
hood by  rising  at  the  sound  of  a  carriage  stopping  at  the 
door.  She  went  into  her  own  room,  and  returned  carrying 
a  pair  of  tall  gilt  candlesticks  with  partly  burnt  wax  candles, 
which  she  quickly  lighted,  and  without  waiting  for  the  bell 
to  ring,  she  opened  the  door  of  the  outer  room,  where  she  set 
the  lamp  down.  The  sound  of  a  kiss  given  and  received 
found  an  echo  in  Hippolyte^s  heart.  The  young  man's  im- 
patience to  see  the  man  who  treated  Adelaide  with  so  much 
familiarity,  was  not  immediately  gratified;  the  newcomers 
had  a  conversation,  which  he  thought  very  long,  in  an  under- 
tone, with  the  young  girl. 

At  last  Mademoiselle  de  Eouville  returned,  followed  by  two 
men,  whose  costume,  countenance,  and  appearance  are  a  long 
story. 

The  first,  a  man  of  about  sixty,  wore  one  of  the  coats  in- 
vented, I  believe,  for  Louis  XVIII.,  then  on  the  throne,  in 
which  the  most  difficult  problem  of  the  sartorial  art  had 
been  solved  by  a  tailor  who  ought  to  be  immortal.  That  artist 
certainly  understood  the  art  of  compromise,  which  was  the 
moving  genius  of  that  period  of  shifting  politics.  Is  it  not  a 
rare  merit  to  be  able  to  take  the  measure  of  the  time  ?  This 
coat,  which  the  young  men  of  the  present  day  may  conceive 
to  be  fabulous,  was  neither  civil  nor  military,  and  might 
pass  for  civil  or  military  by  turns.  Fleurs-de-lis  were  em- 
broidered on  the  lapels  of  the  back  skirts.    The  gilt  buttons 


THE  PURSE 


139 


also  bore  fleurs-de-lis;  on  the  shoulders  a  pair  of  straps  cried 
out  for  useless  epaulettes;  these  military  appendages  were 
there  like  a  petition  without  a  recommendation.  This  old 
gentleman's  coat  was  of  dark  blue  cloth,  and  the  buttonhole 
had  blossomed  into  many  colored  ribbons.  He,  no  doubt, 
always  carried  his  hat  in  his  hand — a  three-cornered  cocked 
hat,  with  a  gold  cord — for  the  snowy  wings  of  his  powdered 
hair  showed  not  a  trace  of  its  pressure.  He  might  have  been 
taken  for  not  more  than  fifty  years  of  age,  and  seemed  to 
enjoy  robust  health.  While  wearing  the  frank  and  loyal  ex- 
pression of  the  old  emigres,  his  countenance  also  hinted  at 
the  easy  habits  of  a  libertine,  at  the  light  and  reckless  passions 
of  the  Musketeers  formerly  so  famous  in  the  annals  of  gal- 
lantry. His  gestures,  his  attitude,  and  his  manner  proclaimed 
that  he  had  no  intention  of  correcting  himself  of  his  royalism, 
of  his  religion,  or  of  his  love  affairs. 

A  really  fantastic  figure  came  in  behind  this  specimen  of 
"Louis  XIV.'s  light  infantry" — a  nickname  given  by  the 
Bonapartists  to  these  venerable  survivors  of  the  Monarchy. 
To  do  it  Justice  it  ought  to  be  made  the  principal  object  in 
the  picture,  and  it  is  but  an  accessory.  Imagine  a  lean,  drj^ 
man,  dressed  like  the  former,  but  seeming  to  be  only  his  re- 
flection, or  his  shadow,  if  you  will.  The  coat,  new  on  the 
first,  on  the  second  was  old;  the  powder  in  his  hair  looked 
less  white,  the  gold  of  the  fleurs-de-lis  less  bright,  the  shoulder 
straps  more  hopeless  and  dog^s  eared;  his  intellect  seemed 
more  feeble,  his  life  nearer  the  fatal  term  than  in  the  former. 
In  short,  he  realized  EivaroFs  witticism  on  Champcenetz, 
"He  is  the  moonlight  of  me.''  He  was  simply  his  double, 
a  paler  and  poorer  double,  for  there  was  between  them  aH 
the  difference  that  lies  between  the  first  and  last  impress^or^ 
of  a  lithograph. 

This  speechless  old  man  was  a  mystery  to  the  painter,  anaX 
always  remained  a  mystery.  The  Chevalier,  for  he  was  a 
Chevalier,  did  not  speak,  nobody  spoke  to  him.  Was  he  a 
friend,  a  poor  relation,  a  man  who  followed  at  the  old  gaV 
lanf  s  heels  as  a  lady  companion  does  at  an  old  lady's  ?  Di;l 


140 


THE  PURSE 


he  fill  a  place  midway  between  a  dog,  a  parrot,  and  a  friend? 
Had  he  saved  his  patron's  fortune,  or  only  his  life  ?  Was  he 
the  Trim  to  another  Captain  Toby?  Elsewhere,  as  at  the 
Baronne  de  Kouville's,  he  always  piqued  curiosity  without 
satisfying  it.  Who,  after  the  Restoration,  could  remember 
the  attachment  which,  before  the  Revolution,  had  bound  this 
man  to  his  friend's  wife,  dead  now  these  twenty  years  ? 

The  leader,  who  appeared  the  least  dilapidated  of  these 
wrecks,  came  gallantly  up  to  Madame  de  Rouville,  kissed  her 
hand,  and  sat  down  by  her.  The  other  bowed  and  placed 
himself  not  far  from  his  model,  at  a  distance  represented  by 
two  chairs.  Adelaide  came  behind  the  old  gentleman's  arm* 
chair  and  leaned  her  elbows  on  the  back,  unconsciously  imi« 
tating  the  attitude  given  to  Dido's  sister  by  Guerin  in  his 
famous  picture- 
Though  the  gentleman's  familiarity  was  that  of  a  father, 
his  freedom  seemed  at  the  moment  to  annoy  the  young  girl. 

"What,  are  you  sulky  with  me?"  he  said. 

Then  he  shot  at  Schinner  one  of  those  side-looks  full  of 
shrewdness  and  cunning,  diplomatic  looks,  whose  expression 
betrays  the  discreet  uneasiness,  the  polite  curiosity  of  well- 
bred  people,  and  seems  to  ask,  when  they  see  a  stranger,  "Is 
he  one  of  us?" 

"This  is  our  neighbor,"  said  the  old  lady,  pointing  to  Hip- 
polyte.  "Monsieur  is  a  celebrated  painter,  whose  name  must 
be  known  to  you  in  spite  of  your  indifference  to  the  arts." 

The  old  man  saw  his  friend's  mischievous  intent  in  sup- 
pressing the  name,  and  bowed  to  the  young  man. 

"Certainly,"  said  he.  "I  heard  a  great  deal  about  his  pic- 
tures at  the  last  Salon.  Talent  has  immense  privileges,"  ho 
added,  observing  the  artist's  red  ribbon.  "That  distinction, 
which  we  must  earn  at  the  cost  of  our  blood  and  long  service, 
you  win  in  your  youth;  but  all  glory  is  of  the  same  kindrod," 
he  said,  laying  his  hand  on  his  Cross  of  Saint-Louis. 

Hippolyte  murmured  a  few  words  of  acknowledgment,  and 
was  silent  again,  satisfied  to  admire  with  growing  enthusiasm 
the  beautiful  girl's  head  that  charmed  him  so  much.  He 


THE  PCIRSlfi 


141 


was  soon  lost  in  contemplation,  completely  forgetting  the 
extreme  misery  of  the  dwelling.  To  him  Adelaide's  face 
stood  out  against  a  luminous  atmosphere.  He  replied  briefly 
to  the  questions  addressed  to  him,  which,  by  good  luck,  he 
heard,  thanks  to  a  singular  faculty  of  the  soul  which  some- 
times seems  to  have  a  double  consciousness.  Who  has  not 
known  what  it  is  to  sit  lost  in  sad  or  delicious  meditation,  lis- 
tening to  its  voice  within,  while  attending  to  a  conversation 
or  to  reading?  An  admirable  duality  which  often  helps  us  to 
tolerate  a  bore  !  Hope,  prolific  and  smiling,  poured  out  before 
Aim  a  thousand  visions  of  happiness;  and  he  refused  to  con- 
sider what  was  going  on  around  him.  As  confiding  as  a 
child,  it  seemed  to  him  base  to  analyze  a  pleasure. 

After  a  short  lapse  of  time  he  perceived  that  the  old  lady 
and  her  daughter  were  playing  cards  with  the  old  gentleman. 
As  to  the  satellite,  faithful  to  his  function  as  a  shadow,  he 
stood  behind  his  friend's  chair  watching  his  game,  and  an.- 
swering  the  player's  mute  inquiries  by  little  approving  nods, 
repeating  the  questioning  gestures  of  the  other  countenance. 

"Du  Halga,  I  always  lose,"  said  the  gentleman. 

"You  discard  badly,"  replied  the  Baronne  de  Eouville. 

"For  three  months  now  I  have  never  won  a  single  game/ 
said  he. 

"Have  you  the  aces?"  asked  the  old  lady. 

"Yes,  one  more  to  mark,"  said  he.  , 

"Shall  I  come  and  advise  you  ?"  said  Adelaide. 

"No,  no.  Stay  where  I  can  see  you.  By  Gad,  it  would  be 
losing  too  much  not  to  have  you  to  look  at !" 

At  last  the  game  was  over.  The  gentleman  pulled  out 
his  purse,  and,  throwing  two  louis  d'or  on  the  table,  not 
without  temper — 

"Forty  francs,"  he  exclaimed,  "the  exact  sum. — Deuce  take 
it!    It  is  eleven  o'clock." 

"It  is  eleven  o'clock,"  repeated  the  silent  figure,  looking 
at  the  painter. 

The  young  man,  hearing  these  words  rather  more  distinctly 
than  all  the  others,  thought  it  time  to  retire.    Coming  back 


142 


THE  PURSE 


to  the  world  of  ordinary  ideas,  he  foand  a  few  comrr/onplace 
remarks  to  make,  took  leave  of  the  Baroness,  her  daughter, 
and  the  two  strangers,  and  went  away,  wholly  possessed  by 
the  first  raptures  of  true  love,  without  attempting  to  analyze 
the  little  incidents  of  the  evening. 

On  the  morrow  the  young  painter  felt  the  most  ardent  de- 
sire to  see  Adelaide  once  more.  If  he  had  followed  the  call 
of  his  passion,  he  would  have  gone  to  his  neighbor's  door  at 
six  in  the  morning,  when  he  went  to  his  studio.  However, 
he  still  was  reasonable  enough  to  wait  till  the  afternoon. 
But  as  soon  as  he  thought  he  could  present  himself  to  Madame 
de  Eouville,  he  went  downstairs,  rang,  blushing  like  a  girl, 
shyly  asked  Mademoiselle  Leseigneur,  who  came  to  let  him 
in,  to  let  him  have  the  portrait  of  the  Baron. 

"But  come  in,"  said  Adelaide,  who  had  no  doubt  heard  him 
come  down  from  the  studio. 

The  painter  followed,  bashful  and  ont  of  countenance,  not 
knowing  what  to  say,  happiness  had  so  dulled  his  wit.  To  see 
Adelaide,  to  hear  the  rustle  of  her  skirt,  after  longing  for 
a  whole  morning  to  be  near  her,  after  starting  up  a  hundred 
time — "I  will  go  down  now" — and  not  to  have  gone ;  this  was 
to  him  life  so  rich  that  such  sensations,  too  greatly  prolonged, 
would  have  worn  out  his  spirit.  The  heart  has  the  singular 
power  of  giving  extraordinary  value  to  mere  nothings.  What 
joy  it  is  to  a  traveler  ,to  treasure  a  blade  of  grass,  an  un- 
familiar leaf,  if  he  has  risked  his  life  to  pluck  it!  It  is  the 
same  with  the  trifles  of  love. 

The  old  lady  was  not  in  the  drawing-room.  When  the 
young  girl  found  herself  there,  alone  with  the  painter,  she 
brought  a  chair  to  stand  on,  to  take  down  the  picture;  but 
perceiving  that  she  could  not  unhook  it  without  setting  hei 
foot  on  the  chest  of  drawers,  she  turned  to  Hippolyte,  and 
said  with  a  blush : 

"I  am  not  tall  enough.   Will  you  get  it  down 

A  feeling  of  modesty,  betrayed  in  the  expression  of  her 
face  and  the  tones  of  her  voice,  was  the  real  motive  of  her 
request;  and  the  young  man,  understanding  this,  gave  her 


THE  PURSE 


143 


one  of  those  glances  of  intelligence  which  are  the  sweetest 
language  of  love.  Seeing  that  the  painter  had  read  her  soul, 
Adelaide  cast  down  her  eyes  with  the  instinct  of  reserve 
which  is  the  secret  of  a  maiden's  heart:  Hippolyte,  finding 
nothing  to  say,  and  feeling  almost  timid,  took  down  the  pict- 
ure, examined  it  gravely,  carrying  it  to  the  light  of  the  win- 
dow, and  then  went  away,  without  saying  a  word  to  Made- 
moiselle Leseigneur  but,  "I  will  return  it  soon/' 

During  this  brief  moment  they  both  went  through  one  of 
those  storms  of  agitation  of  which  the  effects  in  the  soul  may 
be  compared  to  those  of  a  stone  flung  into  a  deep  lake.  The 
most  delightful  waves  of  thought  rise  and  follow  each  other, 
indescribable,  repeated,  and  aimless,  tossing  the  heart  like 
the  circular  ripples,  which  for  a  long  time  fret  the  waters, 
starting  from  the  point  where  the  stone  fell. 

Hippolyte  returned  to  the  studio  bearing  the  portrait.  His 
easel  was  ready  with  a  fresh  canvas,  and  his  palette  set,  his 
brushes  cleaned,  the  spot  and  the  light  carefully  chosen. 
And  till  the  dinner  hour  he  worked  at  the  painting  with 
the  ardor  artists  throw  into  their  whims.  He  went  again 
that  evening  to  the  Baronne  de  Kouville's,  and  remained  from 
nine  till  eleven.  Excepting  the  different  topics  of  conversa- 
tion, this  evening  was  exactly  like  the  last.  The  two  old  men 
arrived  at  the  same  hour,  the  same  game  of  piquet  was  played, 
the  same  speeches  made  by  the  players,  the  sum  lost  by  Ade- 
laide's friend  was  not  less  considerable  than  on  the  previous 
evening ;  only  Hippolyte,  a  little  bolder,  ventured  to  chat  with 
the  young  girl. 

A  week  passed  thus,  and  in  the  course  of  it  the  painter's 
feelings  and  Adelaide's  underwent  the  slow  and  delightful 
transformations  which  bring  two  souls  to  a  perfect  under- 
standing. Every  day  the  look  with  which  the  girl  welcomed 
her  friend  grew  more  intimate,  more  confiding,  gayer,  and 
more  open;  her  voice  and  manner  became  more  eager  and 
more  familiar.  They  laughed  and  talked  together,  telling 
each  other  their  thoughts,  speaking  of  themselves  with  the 
simplicity  of  two  children  who  have  made  friends  in  a  day^ 


144  THE  rURSE 

as  much  as  if  they  had  met  constantly  for  three  years.  Schin- 
ner  wished  tc  be  taught  piquet.  Being  ignorant  and  a  novice, 
he,  of  course,  made  blunder  after  blunder,  and,  like  the  old 
man,  he  lost  almost  every  game.  Without  having  spoken  a  word 
of  love  the  lovers  knew  that  they  were  all  in  all  to  one  an- 
other. Hippolyte  enjoyed  exerting  his  power  over  his  gentle 
little  friend,  and  many  concessions  were  made  to  him  by 
Adelaide,  who,  timid  and  devoted  to  him,  was  quite  deceived 
by  the  assumed  fits  of  temper,  such  as  the  least  skilled  lover 
and  the  most  guileless  girl  can  affect;  and  which  they  con- 
stantly play  off,  as  spoilt  children  abuse  the  power  they  owe 
to  their  mother's  affection.  Thus  all  familiarity  between  the 
girl  and  the  old  Count  was  soon  put  a  stop  to.  She  under- 
stood the  painter's  melancholy,  and  the  thoughts  hidden  in 
the  furrows  on  his  brow,  from  the  abrupt  tone  of  the  few 
words  he  spoke  when  the  old  man  unceremoniously  kissed 
Adelaide's  hands  or  throat. 

Mademoiselle  Leseigneur,  on  her  part,  soon  expected  her 
lover  to  give  a  short  account  of  all  his  actions;  she  was  so 
unhappy,  so  restless  when  Hippolyte  did  not  come,  she  scolded 
him  so  effectually  for  his  absence,  that  the  painter  had  to  give 
up  seeing  his  other  friends,  and  now  went  nowhere.  Ade- 
laide allowed  the  natural  jealousy  of  women  to  be  perceived 
when  she  heard  that  sometimes  at  eleven  o'clock,  on  quitting 
the  house,  the  painter  still  had  visits  to  pay,  and  was  to  be 
seen  in  the  most  brilliant  drawing-rooms  of  Paris.  This 
mode  of  life,  she  assured  him,  was  bad  for  his  health;  then, 
with  the  intense  conviction  to  which  the  accent,  the  emphasis, 
and  the  look  of  one  we  love  lend  so  much  weight,  she  asserted 
that  a  man  who  was  obliged  to  expend  his  time  and  the 
charms  of  his  wit  on  several  women  at  once  could  not  be  the 
object  of  any  very  warm  affection.  Thus  the  painter  was  led, 
as  much  by  the  tyranny  of  his  passion  as  by  the  exactions  of 
a  girl  in  love,  to  live  exclusively  in  the  little  apartment  where 
everything  attracted  him. 

And  never  was  there  a  purer  or  more  ardent  love.  On 
both  sides  the  same  trustfulness,  the  same  delicacy,  gave  their 


THE  PURSE 


145 


passion  increase  without  the  aid  of  those  sacrifices  by  which 
many  persons  try  to  prove  their  affection.  Between  these  two 
there  was  such  a  constant  interchange  of  sweet  emotion  that 
they  knew  not  which  gave  or  received  the  most. 

A  spontaneous  affinity  made  the  union  of  their  souls  a 
close  one.  The  progress  of  this  true  feeling  was  so  rapid  that 
two  months  after  the  accident  to  which  the  painter  owed  the 
happiness  of  knowing  Adelaide,  their  lives  were  one  life. 
From  early  morning  the  young  girl,  hearing  footsteps  over- 
head, could  say  to  herself,  "He  is  there."  When  Hippolyte 
went  home  to  his  mother  at  the  dinner  hour  he  never  failed 
to  look  in  on  his  neighbors,  and  in  the  evening  he  flew  there 
at  the  accustomed  hour  with  a  lover's  punctuality.  Thus  the 
most  tyrannical  woman  or  the  most  ambitious  in  the  matter 
of  love  could  not  have  found  the  smallest  fault  with  the 
young  painter.  And  Adelaide  tasted  of  unmixed  and  un- 
bounded happiness  as  she  saw  the  fullest  realization  of  tho 
ideal  of  which,  at  her  age,  it  is  so  natural  to  dream. 

The  old  gentleman  now  came  more  rarely ;  Hippolyte,  who 
had  been  jealous,  had  taken  his  place  at  the  green  table,  and 
shared  his  constant  ill-luck  at  cards.  And  sometimes,  in  the 
midst  of  his  happiness,  as  he  considered  Madame  de  Eouville'fc' 
disastrous  position — for  he  had  had  more  than  one  proof  of 
her  extreme  poverty — an  importunate  thought  would  haunt 
him.  Several  times  he  had  said  to  himself  as  he  went  home, 
"Strange !  twenty  francs  every  evening  ?"  and  he  dared  not 
confess  to  himself  his  odious  suspicions. 

He  spent  two  months  over  the  portrait,  and  when  it  was 
finished,  varnished,  and  framed,  he  looked  upon  it  as  one  of 
his  best  works.  Madame  la  Baronne  de  Eouville  had  never 
spoken  of  it  again.  Was  this  from  indifference  or  pride? 
The  painter  would  not  allow  himself  to  account  for  this  si- 
lence. He  joyfully  plotted  with  Adelaide  to  hang  the  pict- 
ure in  its  place  when  Madame  de  Eouville  should  be  out.  So 
one  day,  during  the  walk  her  mother  usually  took  in  the 
Tuileries,  iVdelaide  for  the  first  time  went  up  to  Hippolyte's 
studio,  on  the  pretext  of  seeing  the  portrait  in  the  good 


146 


THE  PURSE 


light  in  which  it  had  been  painted.  She  stood  speechless 
and  motionless,  but  in  ecstatic  contemplation,  in  which  all 
a  woman's  feelings  were  merged.  For  are  they  not  all  com- 
prehended in  boundless  admiration  for  the  man  she  loves? 
When  the  painter,  uneasy  at  her  silence,  leaned  forward  to 
look  at  her,  she  held  out  her  hand,  unable  to  speak  a  word, 
but  two  tears  fell  from  her  eyes.  Hippolyte  took  her  hand, 
and  covered  it  with  kisses;  for  a  minute  they  looked  at 
each  other  in  silence,  both  longing  to  confess  their  love,  and 
not  daring.  The  painter  kept  her  hand  in  his,  and  the  same 
glow,  the  same  throb,  told  them  that  their  hearts  were  both 
beating  wildly.  The  young  girl,  too  greatly  agitated,  gently 
drew  away  from  Hippolyte,  and  said,  with  a  look  of  the 
utmost  simplicity: 

"You  will  make  my  mother  very  happy." 

"What,  only  your  mother?''  he  asked. 

"Oh,  I  am  too  happy." 

The  painter  bent  his  head  and  remained  silent,  frightened 
at  the  vehemence  of  the  feelings  which  her  tones  stirred  in 
his  heart.  Then,  both  understanding  the  perils  of  the  situa- 
tion, they  went  downstairs  and  hung  up  the  picture  in  its 
place.  Hippolyte  dined  for  the  first  time  with  the  Baroness, 
who,  greatly  overcome,  and  drowned  in  tears,  must  needs  em- 
brace him. 

In  the  evening  the  old  emigre,  the  Baron  de  Eouville's  old 
comrade,  paid  the  ladies  a  visit  to  announce  that  he  had  just 
been  promoted  to  the  rank  of  vice-admiral.  His  voyages  by 
land  over  Germany  and  Eussia  had  been  counted  as  naval 
campaigns.  On  seeing  the  portrait  he  cordially  shook  the 
painter's  hand,  and  exclaimed,  "By  Gad !  though  my  old  hulk 
does  not  deserve  to  be  perpetuated,  I  would  gladly  give  five 
hundred  pistoles  to  see  myself  as  like  as  that  is  to  my  dear  old 
Eouville." 

At  this  hint  the  Baroness  looked  at  her  young  friend  and 
smiled,  while  her  face  lighted  up  with  an  expression  of  sudden 
gratitude.  Hippolyte  suspected  that  the  old  admiral  wished 
to  offer  him  the  price  of  both  portraits  while  paying  for  his 


THE  PURSE) 


147 


own.  His  pride  as  an  artist,  no  less  than  his  jealousy  per- 
haps, took  offence  at  the  thought,  and  he  replied : 

"Monsieur,  if  I  were  a  portrait-painter  I  should  not  have 
done  this  one." 

The  admiral  bit  his  lip,  and  sat  down  to  cards. 

The  painter  remained  near  Adelaide,  who  proposed  a  dozen 
hands  of  piquet,  to  which  he  agreed.  As  he  played  he  ob- 
served in  Madame  de  Rouville  an  excitement  over  her  game 
which  surprised  him.  Never  before  had  the  old  Baroness 
manifested  so  ardent  a  desire  to  win,  or  so  keen  a  joy  in 
fingering  the  old  gentleman's  gold  pieces.  During  the  even- 
ing evil  suspicions  troubled  Hippolyte's  happiness,  and  filled 
him  with  distrust.  Could  it  be  that  Madame  de  Eouville 
lived  by  gambling?  Was  she  playing  at  this  moment  to  pay 
off  some  debt,  or  under  the  pressure  of  necessity?  Perhaps 
she  had  not  paid  her  rent.  The  old  man  seemed  shrewd 
enough  not  to  allow  his  money  to  be  taken  with  impunity. 
What  interest  attracted  him  to  this  poverty-stricken  house, 
he  who  was  rich?  Why,  when  he  had  formerly  been  so 
familiar  with  Adelaide,  had  he  given  up  the  rights  he  had 
acquired,  and  which  were  perhaps  his  due  ? 

These  involuntary  reflections  prompted  him  to  watch  the 
old  man  and  the  Baroness,  whose  meaning  looks  and  certain 
sidelong  glances  cast  at  Adelaide  displeased  him.  "Am  I  being 
duped  ?''  was  Hippolyte's  last  idea — horrible,  scathing,  for  he 
believed  it  just  enough  to  be  tortured  by  it.  He  determined 
to  stay  after  the  departure  of  the  two  old  men,  to  confirm  or 
dissipate  his  suspicions.  He  drew  out  his  purse  to  pay 
Adelaide ;  but,  carried  away  by  his  poignant  thoughts,  he  laid 
it  on  the  table,  falling  into  a  reverie  of  brief  duration ;  then, 
ashamed  of  his  silence,  he  rose,  answered  some  commonplace 
question  from  Madame  de  Rouville,  and  went  close  up  to  her 
to  examine  the  withered  features  while  he  was  talking  to  her. 

He  went  away,  racked  by  a  thousand  doubts.  He  had  gone 
down  but  a  few  steps  when  he  turned  back  to  fe.ch  the  for- 
gotten purse. 

''I  left  my  purse  here !"  he  said  xo  the  young  girl. 
-I? 


148 


THE  PURSE 


"No/'  she  said,  reddening. 

"I  thought  it  was  there,"  and  he  pointed  to  the  card' 
table.  Not  finding  it,  in  his  shame  for  Adelaide  and  the 
Baroness,  he  looked  at  them  with  a  blank  amazement  that 
made  them  laugh,  turned  pale,  felt  his  waistcoat,  and  said, 
"I  must  have  made  a  mistake.  I  have  it  somewhere  no 
doubt." 

In  one  end  of  the  purse  there  were  fifteen  louis  d'or,  and 
in  the  other  some  small  change.  The  theft  was  so  flagrant, 
and  denied  with  such  effrontery,  that  Hippolyte  no  longer 
felt  a  doubt  as  to  his  neighbors'  morals.  He  stood  still  on 
the  stairs,  and  got  down  with  some  difficulty ;  his  knees  shook, 
he  felt  dizzy,  he  was  in  a  cold  sweat,  he  shivered,  and  found 
himself  unable  to  walk,  struggling,  as  he  was,  with  the 
iigonizing  shock  caused  by  the  destruction  of  all  his  hopes. 
And  at  this  moment  he  found  lurking  in  his  memory  a  num- 
ber of  observations,  trifling  in  themselves,  but  which  cor- 
i'oborated  his  frightful  suspicions,  and  which,  by  proving  the 
^jertainty  of  this  last  incident,  opened  his  eyes  as  to  the  char- 
acter and  life  of  these  two  women. 

Had  they  really  waited  till  the  portrait  was  given  them 
before  robbing  him  of  his  purse  ?  In  such  a  combination  the 
theft  was  even  more  odious.  The  painter  recollected  that 
for  the  last  two  or  three  evenings  Adelaide,  while  seeming 
to  examine  with  a  girl's  curiosity  the  particular  stitch  of  the 
worn  silk  netting,  was  probably  counting  the  coins  in  the 
purse,  while  making  some  light  jests,  quite  innocent  in  appear- 
ance, but  no  doubt  with  the  object  of  watching  for  a  moment 
when  the  sum  was  worth  stealing. 

"The  old  admiral  has  perhaps  good  reasons  for  not  marry- 
mg  Adelaide,  and  so  the  Baroness  has  tried  " 

But  at  this  hypothesis  he  checked  himselt,  not  finishing  his 
thought,  which  was  contradicted  by  a  very  just  reflection, 
"If  the  Baroness  hopes  to  get  me  to  marry  her  daughter/' 
thought  he,  "they  would  not  have  robbed  me." 

Then,  clinging  to  his  illusions,  to  the  love  that  already 
had  taken  such  deep,  root,  he  tried  to  find  a  justification  in 


THE  PURSE 


149 


some  accident.  "The  purse  must  have  fallen  on  the  floor," 
said  he  to  himself,  "or  I  left  it  lying  on  my  chair.  Or  per- 
haps I  have  it  about  me — I  am  so  absent-minded He 
searched  himself  with  hurried  movements,  but  did  not  find 
the  ill-starred  purse.  His  memory  cruelly  retraced  the  fatal 
truth,  minute  by  minute.  He  distinctly  saw  the  purse  lying 
on  the  green  cloth;  but  then,  doubtful  no  longer,  he  excused 
Adelaide,  telling  himself  that  persons  in  misfortune  should 
not  be  so  hastily  condemned.  There  was,  of  course,  some 
secret  behind  this  apparently  degrading  action.  He  would 
not  admit  that  that  proud  and  noble  face  was  a  lie. 

At  the  same  time  the  wretched  rooms  rose  before  him, 
denuded  of  the  poetry  of  love  which  beautifies  everything; 
he  saw  them  dirty  and  faded,  regarding  them  as  emblematic 
of  an  inner  life  devoid  of  honor,  idle  and  vicious.  Are  not 
our  feelings  written,  as  it  were,  on  the  things  about  us  ? 

Next  morning  he  rose,  not  having  slept.  The  heartache, 
that  terrible  malady  of  the  soul,  had  made  rapid  inroads.  To 
lose  the  bliss  we  dreamed  of,  to  renounce  our  whole  future,  is 
a  keener  pang  than  that  caused  by  the  loss  of  known  happi- 
ness, however  complete  it  may  have  been;  for  is  not  Hope 
better  than  Memory?  The  thoughts  into  which  our  spirit 
is  suddenly  plunged  are  like  a  shoreless  sea,  in  which  we  may 
swim  for  a  moment,  but  where  our  love  is  doomed  to  drown 
and  die.  And  it  is  a  frightful  death.  Are  not  our  feelings 
the  most  glorious  part  of  our  life?  It  is  this  partial  death 
which,  in  certain  delicate  or  powerful  natures,  leads  to  the 
terrible  ruin  produced  by  disenchantment,  by  hopes  and  pas- 
sions betrayed.  Thus  it  was  with  the  young  painter.  He 
went  out  at  a  very  early  hour  to  walk  under  the  fresh  shade 
of  the  Tuileries,  absorbed  in  his  thoughts,  forgetting  every- 
thing in  the  world. 

There  by  chance  he  met  one  of  his  most  intimate  friends, 
a  school-fellow  and  studio-mate,  with  whom  he  had  lived  on 
better  terms  than  with  a  brother. 

"Why,  Hippolyte,  what  ails  you  ?"  asked  Fran9ois  Souchet, 


150 


THE  rURSB 


the  young  sculptor  who  had  just  won  the  first  prize,  and 
was  soon  to  set  out  for  Italy. 

"I  am  most  unhappy/'  replied  Hippolyte  gravely. 

"Nothing  but  a  love  affair  can  cause  you  grief.  Money, 
glory,  respect — you  lack  nothing." 

Insensibly  the  painter  was  led  into  confidences,  and  con- 
fessed his  love.  The  moment  he  mentioned  the  Rue  de 
Suresne,  and  a  young  girl  living  on  the  fourth  floor,  "Stop, 
stop,"  cried  Souchet  lightly.  "A  little  girl  I  see  every  morn- 
ing at  the  Church  of  the  Assumption,  and  with  whom  I  have 
a  flirtation.  But,  my  dear  fellow,  we  all  know  her.  The 
mother  is  a  Baroness.  Do  you  really  believe  in  a  Baroness 
living  up  four  flights  of  stairs  ?  Brrr !  Why,  you  are  a  relic 
of  the  golden  age !  We  see  the  old  mother  here,  in  this  ave- 
nue, every  day;  why,  her  face,  her  appearance,  tell  every- 
thing. What,  have  you  not  known  her  for  what  she  is  by  the 
way  she  holds  her  bag?" 

The  two  friends  walked  up  and  down  for  some  time,  and 
several  young  men  who  knew  Souchet  or  Schinner  joined 
them.  The  painter's  adventure,  which  the  sculptor  regarded 
as  unimportant,  was  repeated  by  him. 

"So  he,  too,  has  seen  that  young  lady !"  said  Souchet. 

And  then  there  were  comments,  laughter,  innocent  mock- 
ery, full  of  the  liveliness  familiar  to  artists,  but  which  pained 
Hippol3i:e  frightfully.  A  certain  native  reticence  made  him 
uncomfortable  as  he  saw  his  heart's  secret  so  carelessly 
handled,  his  passion  rent,  torn  to  tatters,  a  young  and  un- 
known girl,  whose  life  seemed  to  be  so  modest,  the  victim 
of  condemnation,  right  or  wrong,  but  pronounced  with  such 
reckless  indifference.  He  pretended  to  be  moved  by  a  spirit 
of  contradiction,  asking  each  for  proofs  of  his  assertions,  and 
their  jests  began  again. 

"But,  my  dear  boy,  have  you  seen  the  Baroness'  shawl?" 
asked  Souchet. 

"Have  you  ever  followed  the  girl  when  she  patters  off  to 
church  in  the  morning  ?"  said  J oseph  Bridau,  a  young  dauber 
in  Gros'  studio. 


THE  PURSE 


151 


"Oh,  the  mother  has  among  other  virtues  a  certain  gray 
gown,  which  I  regard  as  typical/'  said  Bixiou,  the  cari- 
caturist. 

"Listen,  Hippolyte,"  the  sculptor  went  on.  "Come  here  at 
about  four  o'clock,  and  just  study  the  walk  of  both  mother 
and  daughter.  If  after  that  you  still  have  doubts !  well,  no 
one  can  ever  make  anything  of  you ;  you  would  be  capable 
of  marrying  your  porter's  daughter." 

Torn  by  the  most  conflicting  feelings,  the  painter  parted 
from  his  friends.  It  seemed  to  him  that  Adelaide  amd  her 
mother  must  be  superior  to  these  accusations,  and  at  the  bot- 
tom of  his  heart  he  was  tilled  with  remorse  for  having  sus- 
pected the  purity  of  this  beautiful  and  simple  girl.  He  went 
to  his  studio,  passing  the  door  of  the  rooms  where  Adelaidi} 
was,  and  conscious  of  a  pain  at  his  heart  which  no  man  can 
misapprehend.  He  loved  Mademoiselle  de  Eouville  so  pas^ 
sionately  that,  in  spite  of  the  theft  of  the  purse,  he  still 
worshiped  her.  His  love  was  that  of  the  Chevalier  des 
Grieux  admiring  his  mistress,  and  holding  her  as  pure,  even 
on  the  cart  which  carries  such  lost  creatures  to  prison.  "Why 
should  not  my  love  keep  her  the  purest  of  women?  Why 
abandon  her  to  evil  and  to  vice  without  holding  out  a  resc  iinfi: 
hand  to  her?" 

The  idea  of  this  mission  pleased  him.  Love  makes  a  gain 
of  everything.  Nothing  tempts  a  young  man  more  than  to 
play  the  part  of  a  good  genius  to  a  woman.  There  is  some- 
thing inexplicably  romantic  in  such  an  enterprise  which  ap- 
peals to  a  highly-strung  soul.  Is  it  not  the  utmost  stretch  of 
devotion  under  the  loftiest  and  most  engaging  aspect?  Is 
there  not  something  grand  in  the  thought  that  we  love  enough 
still  to  love  on  when  the  love  of  others  dwindles  and  dies  ? 

Hippolyte  sat  down  in  his  studio,  gazed  at  his  picture 
without  doing  anything  to  it,  seeing  the  figures  through  tears 
that  swelled  in  his  eyes,  holding  his  brush  in  his  hand,  going 
up  to  the  canvas  as  if  to  soften  down  an  effect,  but  not  touch- 
ing it.  Night  fell,  and  he  was  still  in  this  attitude.  Roused 
from  his  moodiness  by  the  darkness,  he  went  downstairs,  met 


152 


THE  PURSE 


the  old  admiral  on  the  way,  looked  darkly  at  him  as  he  bowed, 
and  Hed. 

He  had  intended  going  in  to  see  the  ladies,  but  the  sight 
of  Adelaide's  protector  froze  his  heart  and  dispelled  his 
purpose.  For  the  hundredth  time  he  wondered  what  interest 
could  bring  this  old  prodigal,  with  his  eighty  thousand  francs 
a  year,  to  this  fourth  story,  where  he  lost  about  forty  francs 
every  evening ;  and  he  thought  he  could  guess  what  it  was. 

The  next  and  following  days  Hippolyte  threw  himself  into 
his  work,  and  to  try  to  conquer  his  passion  by  the  swift  rush 
of  ideas  and  the  ardor  of  composition.  He  half  succeeded. 
Study  consoled  him,  though  it  could  not  smother  the  memories 
of  so  many  tender  hours  spent  with  Adelaide. 

One  evening,  as  he  left  his  studio,  he  saw  the  door  of  the 
ladies'  rooms  half  open.  Somebody  was  standing  in  the  re- 
cess of  the  window,  and  the  position  of  the  door  and  the 
staircase  made  it  impossible  that  the  painter  should  pass 
ivithout  seeing  Adelaide.  He  bowed  coldly,  with  a  glance 
of  supreme  indifference;  but  judging  of  the  girl's  suffering 
by  his  own,  he  felt  an  inward  shudder  as  he  reflected  on  the 
bitterness  which  that  look  and  that  coldness  must  produce 
in  a  loving  heart.  To  crown  the  most  delightful  feast  which 
ever  brought  joy  to  two  pure  souls,  by  eight  days  of  disdain,  of 
the  deepest  and  most  utter  contempt ! — A  frightful  conclu- 
sion. And  perhaps  the  purse  had  been  found,  perhaps  Ade- 
laide had  looked  for  her  friend  every  evening. 

This  simple  and  natural  idea  filled  the  lover  with  fresh 
remorse;  he  asked  himself  whether  the  proofs  of  attachment 
given  him  by  the  young  girl,  the  delightful  talks,  full  of 
the  love  that  had  so  charmed  him,  did  not  deserve  at  least 
an  inquiry;  were  not  worthy  of  some  justification.  Ashamed 
of  having  resisted  the  promptings  of  his  heart  for  a  whole 
week,  and  feeling  himself  almost  a  criminal  in  this  mental 
struggle,  he  called  the  same  evening  on  Madame  de  Eouville. 

All  his  suspicions,  all  his  evil  thoughts  vanished  at  the 
sight  of  the  young  girl,  who  had  grown  pale  and  thin. 

^'Good  heavens!  what  is  the  matter?"  he  asked  her,  after 
greeting  the  Baroness. 


THE  PURSE 


153 


Adelaide  made  no  reply,  but  she  gave  him  a  look  of  deep 
melancholy,  a  sad,  dejected  look,  which  pained  him. 

"You  have,  no  doubt,  been  working  hard,-'  said  the  old  lady. 
"You  are  altered.  We  are  the  cause  of  your  seclusion.  That 
portrait  had  delayed  some  pictures  essential  to  your  reputa- 
tion." 

Hippolyte  was  glad  to  find  so  good  an  excuse  for  his  rude- 
ness. /' 

"Yes,''  he  said,  "I  have  been  very  busy,  but  I  have  been 
Buffering  " 

At  these  words  Adelaide  raised  her  head,  looked  at  her 
lover,  and  her  anxious  eyes  had  now  no  hint  of  reproach. 

"You  must  have  thought  us  quite  indifferent  to  any  good 
or  ill  that  may  befall  you  ?"  said  the  old  lady. 

"I  was  wrong,"  he  replied.  "Still,  there  are  forms  of  pain 
which  we  know  not  how  to  confide  to  any  one,  even  to  a 
friendship  of  older  date  than  that  with  which  you  honor 
me." 

"The  sincerity  and  strength  of  friendship  are  not  to  be 
measured  by  time.  I  have  seen  old  friends  who  had  not  a 
tear  to  bestow  on  misfortune,"  said  the  Baroness,  nodding; 
sadly. 

"But  you — what  ails  you?"  the  young  man  asked  Ade- 
laide. 

"Oh,  nothing,"  replied  the  Baroness.  "Adelaide  has  sat  up 
late  for  some  nights  to  finish  some  little  piece  of  woman's 
Work,  and  would  not  listen  to  me  when  I  told  her  that  a  day 
more  or  less  did  not  matter  " 

Hippolyte  was  not  listening.  As  he  looked  at  these  tw(» 
noble,  calm  faces,  he  blushed  for  his  suspicions,  an.d  ascribed 
the  loss  of  his  purse  to  some  unknown  accident. 

This  was  a  delicious  evening  to  him,  and  perhaps  to  her 
(too.  There  are  some  secrets  which  young  souls  understand 
so  well.  Adelaide  could  read  Hippolyte's  thoughts.  Though 
he  could  not  confess  his  misdeeds,  the  painter  knew  them, 
and  he  had  come  back  to  his  mistress  more  in  love,  and  more 
affectionate,  trying  thus  to  purchase  her  tacit  forgiveness. 


154 


THE  PURSE 


Adelaide  was  enjoying  such  perfect,  such  sweet  happiness, 
that  she  did  not  think  she  had  paid  too  dear  for  it  with  all 
the  grief  that  had  so  cruelly  crushed  her  soul.  And  yet,  this 
true  concord  of  hearts,  this  understanding  so  full  of  magic 
charm,  was  disturbed  by  a  little  speech  of  Madame  de  Eou- 
ville's. 

"Let  us  have  our  little  game,"  she  said,  "for  my  old  friend 
Kergarouet  will  not  let  me  off." 

These  words  revived  all  the  young  painter's  fears;  he  col- 
ored as  he  looked  at  Adelaide's  mother,  but  he  saw  nothing 
in  her  countenance  but  the  expression  of  the  frankest  good- 
nature; no  double  meaning  marred  its  charm;  its  keenness 
was  not  perfidious,  its  humor  seemed  kindly,  and  no  trace  of 
remorse  disturbed  its  equanimity. 

He  sat  down  to  the  card-table.  Adelaide  took  side  with 
the  painter,  saying  that  he  did  not  know  piquet,  and  needed 
n-  partner. 

All  through  the  game  Madame  de  Eouville  and  her  daugh- 
ter exchanged  looks  of  intelligence,  which  alarmed  Hippolyte 
all  the  more  because  he  was  winning ;  but  at  last  a  final  hand 
left  the  lovers  in  the  old  lady's  debt. 

To  feel  for  some  money  in  his  pocket  the  painter  took  his 
hands  off  the  table,  and  he  then  saw  before  him  a  purse  which 
Adelaide  had  slipped  in  front  of  him  without  his  noticing  it ; 
1;he  poor  child  had  the  old  one  in  her  hand,  and,  to  keep  her 
i?ountenance,  was  looking  into  it  for  the  money  to  pay  her 
mother.  The  blood  rushed  to  Hippolyte's  heart  with  such 
force  that  he  was  near  fainting. 

The  new  purse,  substituted  for  his  own,  and  which  con- 
tained his  fifteen  gold  louis,  was  worked  with  gilt  beads.  The 
rings  and  tassels  bore  witness  to  Adelaide's  good  taste,  and 
she  had  no  doubt  spent  all  her  little  hoard  in  ornamenting 
this  pretty  piece  of  work.  It  was  impossible  to  say  with 
greater  delicacy  that  the  painter's  gift  could  only  be  repaid 
by  some  proof  of  affection. 

Hippolyte,  overcome  with  happiness,  turned  to  look  at 
.Adelaide  and  her  mother,  and  saw  that  they  were  treinulous 


THE  PURSE 


155 


with  pleasure  and  delight  at  their  little  trick.  He  felt  him- 
self mean,  sordid,  a  fool;  he  longed  to  punish  himself,  to 
rend  his  heart.  A  few  tears  rose  to  his  eyes ;  by  an  irresistible 
impulse  he  sprang  up,  clasped  Adelaide  in  his  arms, 
pressed  her  to  his  heart,  and  stole  a  kiss;  then  with  the  sim- 
ple heartiness  of  an  artist,  "I  ask  her  for  my  wife !"  he  ex- 
claimed, looking  at  the  Baroness. 

Adelaide  looked  at  him  with  half-wrathful  eyes,  and  Mad- 
ame de  Rouville,  somewhat  astonished,  was  considering  her 
reply,  when  the  scene  was  interrupted  by  a  ring  at  the  bell. 
The  old  vice-admiral  came  in,  followed  by  his  shadow,  and 
Madame  Schinner.  Having  guessed  the  cause  of  the  grief 
her  son  vainly  endeavored  to  conceal,  Hippolyte's  mother  had 
made  inquiries  among  her  friends  concerning  Adelaide.  Very 
justly  alarmed  by  the  calumnies  which  weighed  on  the  young 
girl,  unknown  to  the  Comte  de  Kergarouet,  whose  name  she 
learned  from  the  porter's  wife,  she  went  to  report  them  to  the 
vice-admiral ;  and  he,  in  his  rage,  declared  "he  would  crop  all 
the  scoundrels'  ears  for  them." 

Then,  prompted  by  his  wrath,  he  went  on  to  explain  to 
Madame  Schinner  the  secret  of  his  losing  intentionally  at 
cards,  because  the  Baronne's  pride  left  him  none  but  these 
ingenious  means  of  assisting  her. 

When  Madame  Schinner  had  paid  her  respects  to  Madame 
de  Rouville,  the  Baroness  looked  at  the  Comte  de  Kergarouet, 
at  the  Chevalier  du  Halga— the  friend  of  the  departed  Comt- 
esse  de  Kergarouet— at  Hippolyte,  and  Adelaide,  and  said, 
with  the  grace  that  comes  from  the  heart,  "So  we  are  a  family 
party  this  evening." 


Paris,  May  183X 


MADAME  FIRMIANI 


To  my  dear  Alexandre  de  Berny,  from  his  old  friend 
De  Balzac. 

Many  tales,  rich  in  situations,  or  made  dramatic  by  the 
endless  sport  of  chance,  carry  their  plot  in  themselves,  and 
can  be  related  artistically  or  simply  by  any  lips  without  the 
smallest  loss  of  the  beauty  of  the  subject;  but  there  are 
some  incidents  of  human  life  to  which  only  the  accents  of 
the  heart  can  give  life;  there  are  certain  anatomical  details, 
so  to  speak,  of  which  the  delicacy  appears  only  under  the 
most  skilful  infusions  of  mind.  Again,  there  are  portraits 
which  demand  a  soul,  and  are  nothing  without  the  more 
ethereal  features  of  the  responsive  countenance.  Finally, 
there  are  certain  things  which  we  know  not  how  to  say,  or  to 
depict,  without  I  know  not  what  unconceived  harmonies  that 
are  under  the  influence  of  a  day  or  an  hour,  of  a  happy  con- 
junction of  celestial  signs,  or  of  some  occult  moral  predisposi- 
tion. 

Such  revelations  as  these  are  absolutely  required  for  the 
telling  of  this  simple  story,  in  which  I  would  fain  interest 
some  of  those  naturally  melancholy  and  pensive  souls  which 
are  fed  on  bland  emotions.  If  the  writer,  like  a  surgeon  by 
the  side  of  a  dying  friend,  has  become  imbued  with  a  sort 
of  respect  for  the  subject  he  is  handling,  why  should  not  the 
reader  share  this  inexplicable  feeling?  Is  it  so  difficult  to 
throw  oneself  into  that  vague,  nervous  melancholy  which  sheds 
gray  hues  on  all  our  surroundings,  which  is  half  an  illness, 
though  its  languid  suffering  is  sometimes  a  pleasure? 

If  you  are  thinking  by  chance  of  the  dear  friends  you  have 
lost;  if  3^ou  are  alone,  and  it  is  night,  or  the  day  is  dying, 

(157) 


158 


MADAME  FIRMIANI 


read  this  narrative ;  otherwise,  throw  the  book  aside,  here. 
If  yon  have  never  buried  some  kind  aunt,  an  invalid  or  poor, 
you  will  not  understand  these  pages.  To  some,  they  will  be 
odorous  as  of  musk;  to  others,  they  will  be  as  colorless,  as 
strictly  virtuous  as  those  of  Florian.  In  short,  the  reader 
must  have  known  the  luxury  of  tears;  must  have  felt  the 
wordless  grief  of  a  memory  that  drifts  lightly  by,  bearing  a 
shade  that  is  dear  but  remote ;  he  must  possess  some  of  those 
remembrances  that  make  us  at  the  same  time  regret  those 
whom  the  earth  has  swallowed,  and  smile  over  vanished  joys. 

And  now  the  author  would  have  you  believe  that  for  all 
the  wealth  of  England  he  would  not  extort  from  poetry  even 
one  of  her  fictions  to  add  grace  to  this  narrative.  This  is  a 
true  story,  on  which  you  may  pour  out  the  treasure  of  your 
sensibilities,  if  you  have  any. 

In  these  days,  our  language  has  as  many  dialects  as  there 
are  men  in  the  great  human  family.  And  it  is  a  really  curious 
and  interesting  thing  to  listen  to  the  different  views  or  ver- 
sions of  one  and  the  same  thing,  or  event,  as  given  by  the 
various  species  which  make  up  the  monograph  of  the 
Parisian — the  Parisian  being  taken  as  a  generic  term.  Thus 
you  might  ask  a  man  of  the  matter-of-fact  type,  "Do  you 
know  Madame  Firmiani?"  and  this  man  would  interpret 
Madame  Firmiani  by  such  an  inventory  as  this:  "A  large 
house  in  the  Eue  du  Bac,  rooms  handsomely  furnished,  fine 
pictures,  a  hundred  thousand  francs  a  year  in  good  securities, 
and  a  husband  who  was  formerly  receiver-general  in  the  de- 
partment of  Montenotte."  Having  thus  spoken,  j'^our  matter- 
of-fact  man — stout  and  roundabout,  almost  always  dressed  in 
black — draws  up  his  lower  lip,  so  as  to  cover  the  upper  lip, 
and  nods  his  head,  as  much  as  to  say,  "Very  respectable  peo- 
ple, there  is  nothing  to  be  said  against  them."  Ask  him  no 
more.  Your  matter-of-fact  people  state  everything  in  figures, 
dividends,  or  real  estate — a  great  word  in  their  dictionary. 

Turn  to  your  right,  go  and  question  that  young  man,  wha 
belongs  to  the  lounger  specie:  and  repeat  your  inquiry. 


MADAME  FIRMIANI 


159 


"Madame  Firmiani  says  he.  "Yes,  yes,  I  know  her  very 
well.  I  go  to  her  evenings.  She  receives  on  Wednesdays;  a 
very  good  house  to  know."  Madame  Firmiani  is  always  meta- 
morphosed into  a  house.  The  house  is  not  a  mere  mass  of 
stones  architecturally  put  together ;  no,  this  word,  in  the  lan- 
guage of  the  lounger,  has  no  equivalent.  And  here  your 
lounger,  a  dry-looking  man,  with  a  pleasant  smile,  saying 
clever  nothings,  hut  always  with  more  acquired  wit  than 
natural  wit,  bends  to  your  ear,  and  says  with  a  knowing  air 
"I  never  saw  Monsieur  Firmiani.  His  social  position  con- 
sists in  managing  estates  in  Italy.  But  Madame  Firmiani 
is  French,  and  spends  her  income  as  a  Parisian  should.  Sh(i 
gives  excellent  tea !  It  is  one  of  the  few  houses  where  you 
really  can  amuse  yourself,  and  where  everything  they  giv(3 
you  is  exquisite.  It  is  very  difficult  to  get  introduced,  and 
the  best  society  is  to  be  seen  in  her  drawing-rooms."  Then 
the  lounger  emphasizes  his  last  words  by  gravely  taking  a 
pinch  of  snuff;  he  applies  it  to  his  nose  in  little  dabs,  and 
seems  to  be  saying:  "I  go  to  the  house,  but  do  not  count  on 
my  introducing  you." 

To  folks  of  this  type  Madame  Firmiani  keeps  a  sort  of  inn 
without  a  sign. 

"Why  on  earth  can  you  want  to  go  to  Madame  Firmiani's? 
It  is  as  dull  there  as  it  is  at  Court.  Of  what  use  are  brains 
if  they  do  not  keep  you  out  of  such  drawing-rooms,  where, 
with  poetry  such  as  is  now  current,  you  hear  the  most  trivial 
little  ballad  just  hatched  out." 

You  have  asked  one  of  your  friends  who  comes  under  the 
class  of  petty  autocrats — men  who  would  like  to  have  the 
universe  under  lock  and  key,  and  have  nothing  done  without 
their  leave.  They  are  miserable  at  other  people's  enjoyment, 
can  forgive  nothing  but  vice,  wrong-doing,  and  infirmities, 
and  want  nothing  but  proteges.  Aristocrats  by  taste,  they 
are  republicans  out  of  spite,  simply  to  discover  many  inferiors 
among  their  equals. 

"Oh,  Madame  Firmiani,  my  dear  fellow,  is  one  of  those 
adorable  women  whom  Nature  feels  to  be  a  sufficient  excuse 


160 


MADAME  FIRMIANI 


for  all  the  ugly  ones  she  has  created  by  mistake;  she  is  be- 
witching, she  is  kind !  I  should  like  to  be  in  power,  to  be 
king,  to  have  millions  of  money,  solely  (and  three  words  are 
whispered  in  your  ear).    Shall  I  introduce  you  to  her?" 

This  young  man  is  a  Schoolboy,  known  for  his  audacious 
bearing  among  men  and  his  extreme  shyness  in  private. 

''^Madame  Firmiani cries  another,  twirling  his  cane  in 
the  air.  "I  will  tell  you  what  I  think  of  her.  She  is  a 
woman  of  between  thirty  and  thirty-five,  face  a  little  passee, 
fine  eyes,  a  flat  figure,  a  worn  contralto  voice,  dresses  a  great 
deal,  rouges  a  little,  manners  charming;  in  short,  my  dear 
fellow,  the  remains  of  a  pretty  woman  which  are  still  worthy 
of  a  passion." 

This  verdict  is  pronounced  by  a  specimen  of  the  genus 
'Coxcomb,  who,  having  just  breakfasted,  does  not  weigh  his 
words,  and  is  going  out  riding.  At  such  moments  a  coxcomb 
is  pitiless. 

"She  has  a  collection  of  magnificent  pictures  in  her  house. 
Go  and  see  her,"  says  another;  "nothing  can  be  finer." 

You  have  come  upon  the  species  Amateur.  This  indi- 
vidual quits  you  to  go  to  Perignon's,  or  to  Tripet's.  To  him 
Madame  Firmiani  is  a  number  of  painted  canvases. 

A  Wife. — "Madame  Firmiani?  I  will  not  have  you  go 
there."  This  phrase  is  the  most  suggestive  view  of  all. — Mad- 
ame Firmiani !  A  dangerous  woman  !  A  siren !  She  dresses 
well,  has  good  taste ;  she  spoils  the  night's  rest  of  every  wife. 
— The  speaker  is  of  the  species  Shrew. 

An  Attache  to  an  Embassy. — "Madame  Firmiani? 
From  Antwerp,  is  not  she?  I  saw  that  woman,  very  hand- 
some, about  ten  years  ago.   She  was  then  at  Rome." 

Men  of  the  order  of  Attaches  have  a  mania  for  utterances 
a  la  Talleyrand,  their  wit  is  often  so  subtle  that  their  per- 
ception is  imperceptible.  They  are  like  those  billiard  players 
who  miss  the  balls  with  infinite  skill.  These  men  are  not 
generally  great  talkers;  but  when  they  talk  it  is  of  nothing 
less  than  Spain,  Vienna,  Italy,  or  Saint-Petersburg.  The 
names  of  countries  act  on  them  like  springs ;  you  press  them, 
and  the  machinery  Dlavs  all  its  tunes. 


MADAME  FIRMIANI 


161 


''Does  not  that  Madame  Firmiani  see  a  great  deal  of  the 
Faubourg  Saint-Germain?"  This  is  asked  by  a  person  who 
desires  claims  to  distinction.  She  adds  a  de  to  everybody's 
name — to  Monsieur  Dupin,  senior,  to  Monsieur  Lafayette; 
she  flings  it  right  and  left  and  spatters  people  with  it.  She 
spends  her  life  in  anxieties  as  to  what  is  correct;  but,  for  her 
sins,  she  lives  in  the  unfashionable  Marais,  and  her  husband 
was  an  attorney — but  an  attorney  in  the  King's  Court. 

"Madame  Firmiani,  monsieur  ?  I  do  not  know  her."  This 
man  is  of  the  class  of  Dukes.  He  recognizes  no  woman  who 
has  not  been  presented.  Excuse  him ;  he  was  created  Duke  by 
Napoleon. 

'''Madame  Firmiani?  Was  she  not  a  singer  at  the  Italian 
opera  house?" — A  man  of  the  genus  Simpleton.  The  indi- 
viduals of  this  genus  must  have  an  answer  to  everything. 
They  would  rather  speak  calumnies  than  be  silent. 

Two  OLD  Ladies  {the  wives  of  retired  lawyers). — The 
First  (she  has  a  cap  with  bows  of  ribbon,  her  face  is  wrinkled, 
her  nose  sharp,  she  holds  a  prayer-book,  and  her  voice  is 
harsh). — "What  was  her  maiden  name? — this  Madame 
Firmiani  ?" 

The  Second  (she  has  a  little  red  face  like  a  lady-apple, 
and  a  gentle  voice). — "She  was  a  Cadignan,  my  dear,  niec(i 
of  the  old  Prince  de  Cadignan,  and  cousin,  consequently,  to 
the  Due  de  Maufrigneuse." 

Madame  Firmiani  then  is  a  Cadignan.  Bereft  of  virtues, 
fortune,  and  youth,  she  would  still  be  a  Cadignan;  that,  like 
u  prejudice,  is  always  rich  and  living. 

An  Eccentric. — "My  dear  fellow,  I  never  saw  any  clogj/ 
in  her  ante-room;  you  may  go  to  her  house  without  compro- 
mising yourself,  and  play  there  without  hesitation;  for  if 
there  should  be  any  rogues,  they  will  be  people  of  quality, 
consequently  there  is  no  quarreling." 

An  Old  Man  of  the  species  Observer. — "You  go  to 
Madame  Firmiani's,  my  dear  fellow,  and  you  find  a  handsome 
woman  lounging  indolently  by  the  fire.  She  vnll  scarcely 
move  from  her  chair;  she  rises  only  to  greet  women,  or  am- 


162 


MADAME  FIRMiANl 


bassadors,  or  dukes — people  of  importance.  She  is  very 
gracious,  she  charms  you,  she  talks  well,  and  likes  to  talk  of 
everything.  She  bears  eYery  indication  of  a  passionate  soul, 
but  she  is  credited  with  too  many  adorers  to  have  a  lover. 
If  suspicion  rested  on  only  two  or  three  intimate  visitors, 
we  might  know  which  was  her  cavaliere  servente.  But  she  is 
all  mystery;  she  is  married,  and  we  have  never  seen  her  hus- 
band ;  Monsieur  Firmiani  is  purely  a  creature  of  fancy,  like 
the  third  horse  we  «re  made  to  pay  for  when  traveling  post, 
and  which  we  never  see;  Madame,  if  you  believe  the  profes- 
sionals, has  the  finest  contralto  voice  in  Europe,  and  has  not 
sung  three  times  since  she  came  to  Paris;  she  receives  num- 
bers of  people,  and  goes  nowhere.'^ 

The  Observer  speaks  as  an  oracle.  His  words,  his  anec- 
dotes, his  quotations  must  all  be  accepted  as  truth,  or  you  risk 
being  taken  for  a  man  without  knowledge  of  the  world,  with- 
out capabilities.  He  will  slander  you  lightly  in  twenty  draw- 
ing-rooms, where  he  is  as  essential  as  the  first  piece  in  the 
))ill — pieces  so  often  played  to  the  benches,  but  which  once 
upon  a  time  were  successful.  The  Observer  is  a  man  of  forty, 
never  dines  at  home,  and  professes  not  to  be  dangerous  to 
women;  he  wears  powder  and  a  maroon-colored  coat;  he  can 
.always  have  a  seat  in  various  boxes  at  the  Theatre  des 
"Bouffons.  He  is  sometimes  mistaken  for  a  parasite,  but  ho 
has  held  too  high  positions  to  be  suspected  of  sponging,  and, 
indeed,  possesses  an  estate,  in  a  department  of  which  the  name 
has  never  leaked  out. 

^'Madame  Firmiani?  Why,  my  dear  boy,  she  was  a  mis- 
tress of  Murat's.'^  This  gentleman  is  a  Contradictory.  They 
supply  the  errata  to  every  memory,  rectify  every  fact,  bet 
you  a  hundred  to  one,  are  cock-sure  of  everything.  You 
catch  them  out  in  a  single  evening  in  flagrant  delicts  of 
ubiquity.  They  assert  that  they  were  in  Paris  at  the  time 
of  Mallet's  conspiracy,  forgetting  that  half  an  hour  before 
they  had  crossed  the  Beresina.  The  Contradictories  are  al- 
most all  members  of  the  Legion  of  Honor;  they  talk  very 
loud,  have  receding  foreheads,  and  play  high. 


MADAME  FIRMIANI 


163 


"Madame  Firmiani,  a  hundred  thousand  francs  a  year? 
Are  you  mad?  Keally  some  people  scatter  thousands  a  year 
with  the  liberality  of  authors,  to  whom  it  costs  nothing  to  give 
their  heroines  handsome  fortunes.  But  Madame  Firmiani 
is  a  flirt  who  ruined  a  young  fellow  the  other  day,  and  hin- 
dered him  from  making  a  very  good  marriage.  If  she  were 
not  handsome,  she  would  be  penniless.^' 

This  speaker  you  recognize :  he  is  one  of  the  Envious,  and 
we  will  not  sketch  his  least  feature.  The  species  is  as  well- 
known  as  that  of  the  domestic  felis.  How  is  the  perpetuity 
of  envy  to  be  explained?  A  vice  which  is  wholly  unprofit- 
able ! 

People  of  fashion,  literary  people,  very  good  people,  and 
people  of  every  kind  were,  in  the  month  of  January  1824, 
giving  out  so  many  different  opinions  on  Madame  Firmiani 
that  it  would  be  tiresome  to  report  them  all.  We  have  only 
aimed  at  showing  that  a  man  wishing  to  know  her,  without 
choosing,  or  being  able,  to  go  to  her  house,  would  have  been 
equally  justified  in  the  belief  that  she  was  a  widow  or  a 
wife — silly  or  witty,  virtuous  or  immoral,  rich  or  poor,  gentle 
or  devoid  of  soul,  handsome  or  ugly;  in  fact,  there  were  as 
many  Mesdames  Firmiani  as  there  are  varieties  in  social  life, 
i»r  sects  in  the  Catholic  Church.  Frightful  thought!  We 
are  all  like  lithographed  plates,  of  which  an  endless  number 
of  copies  are  taken  off  by  slander.  These  copies  resemble  or 
differ  from  the  original  by  touches  so  imperceptibly  slight 
that,  but  for  the  calumnies  of  our  friends  and  the  witticisms 
of  newspapers,  reputation  would  depend  on  the  balance  struck 
by  each  hearer  between  the  limping  truth  and  the  lies  to 
which  Parisian  wit  lends  wings. 

Madame  Firmiani,  like  many  other  women  of  dignity  and 
noble  pride,  who  close  their  hearts  as  a  sanctuary  and  scorn 
the  world,  might  have  been  very  hardly  judged  by  Monsieur 
de  Bourbonne,  an  old  gentleman  of  fortune,  who  had  thought 
a  good  deal  about  her  during  the  past  winter.  As  it  hap- 
pened, this  gentleman  belonged  to  the  Provincial  Land- 
owner class,  folks  who  are  accustomed  to  inquire  into  every- 

'12 


164 


MADAME  FIRMIANI 


thing,  and  to  make  bargains  with  peasants.  In  this  business 
a  man  grows  keen-witted  in  spite  of  himself,  as  a  soldier,  in 
'the  long  run,  acquires  the  courage  of  routine.  This  inquirer, 
a  native  of  Touraine,  and  not  easily  satisfied  by  the  Paris 
dialects,  was  a  very  honorable  gentleman  who  rejoiced  in  a 
nephew,  his  sole  heir,  for  whom  he  planted  his  poplars.  Their 
more  than  natural  affection  gave  rise  to  m.uch  evil-speaking, 
which  individuals  of  the  various  species  of  Tourangeau 
formulated  with  much  mother  wit;  but  it  would  be  useless 
to  record  it;  it  would  pale  before  that  of  Parisian  tongues. 
When  a  man  can  think  of  his  heir  without  displeasure,  as 
he  sees  fine  rows  of  poplars  improving  every  day,  his  affec- 
tion increases  with  each  spadeful  of  earth  he  turns  at  the 
foot  of  his  trees.  Though  such  phenomena  of  sensibility 
may  be  uncommon,  they  still  are  to  be  met  with  in  Tour- 
aine. 

This  much-loved  nephew,  whose  name  was  Octave  de 
Camps,  was  descended  from  the  famous  Abbe  de  Camps,  so 
well  known  to  the  learned,  or  to  the  bibliomaniacs,  which  is 
not  the  same  thing. 

Provincial  folks  have  a  disagreeable  habit  of  regarding 
young  men  who  sell  their  reversions  with  a  sort  of  respectable 
horror.  This  Gothic  prejudice  is  bad  for  speculation,  which 
the  Government  has  hitherto  found  it  necessary  to  encourage. 
Now,  without  consulting  his  uncle,  Octave  had  on  a  sudden 
disposed  of  an  estate  in  favor  of  the  speculative  builders. 
The  chateau  of  Yillaines  would  have  been  demolished  but  foi 
the  offers  made  by  his  old  uncle  to  the  representatives  of 
the  demolishing  fraternity.  To  add  to  the  testator's  wrath . 
a  friend  of  Octave's,  a  distant  relation,  one  of  those  cousins 
irith  small  wealth  and  great  cunning,  who  lead  their  pru- 
dent neighbors  to  say,  "I  should  not  like  to  go  to  law  with 
him !"  had  called,  by  chance,  on  Monsieur  de  Bourbonne  and 
informed  him  that  his  nephew  was  ruined.  Monsieur  Octave 
de  Camps,  after  dissipating  his  fortune  for  a  certain 
Madame  Firmiani,  and  not  daring  to  confess  his  sins,  had 
been  reduced  to  giving  lessons  in  mathematics,  pending 


MADAME  FIHMIANI 


165 


his  coining  into  his  uncle's  leavings.  This  distant  cousin — 
a  sort  of  Charles  Moor — had  not  been  ashamed  of  giving 
this  disastrous  news  to  the  old  country  gentleman  at  the 
hour  when,  sitting  before  his  spacious  hearth,  he  was  digest- 
ing a  copious  provincial  dinner.  But  would-be  legatees  do 
not  get  rid  of  an  uncle  so  easily  as  they  could  wish.  This 
uncle,  thanks  to  his  obstinacy,  refusing  to  believe  the  dis- 
tant cousin,  came  out  victorious  over  the  indigestion  brought 
on  by  the  biography  of  his  nephew.  Some  blows  fall  on  the 
heart,  others  on  the  brain;  the  blow  struck  by  the  distant 
cousin  fell  on  the  stomach,  and  produced  little  effect,  as  the 
good  man  had  a  strong  one. 

Monsieur  de  Bourbonne,  as  a  worthy  disciple  of  Saint 
Thomas,  came  to  Paris  without  telling  Octave,  and  tried  to 
get  information  as  to  his  heir's  insolvency.  The  old  gentle- 
man, who  had  friends  in  the  Faubourg  Saint- Germain — 
the  Listomeres,  the  Lenoncourts,  and  the  Vandenesses — 
heard  so  much  slander,  so  much  that  was  true,  and  so  much 
that  was  false  concerning  Madame  Firmiani,  that  he  deter- 
mined to  call  on  her,  under  the  name  of  Monsieur  de  Roux- 
ellay,  the  name  of  his  place.  The  prudent  old  man  took  care, 
in  going  to  study  Octave's  mistress — as  she  was  said  to  be — 
to  choose  an  evening  when  he  knew  that  the  young  man  was 
engaged  on  work  to  be  well  paid  for;  for  Madame  Firmiani 
was  always  at  home  to  her  young  friend,  a  circumstance  that 
no  one  could  account  for.  As  to  Octave's  ruin,  that,  un- 
fortunately, was  no  fiction. 

Monsieur  de  Eouxellay  was  not  at  all  like  a  stage  uncle. 
As  an  old  musketeer,  a  man  of  the  best  society,  who  had  his 
successes  in  his  day,  he  knew  how  to  introduce  himself  with 
a  courtly  air,  remembered  the  polished  manners  of  the  past, 
had  a  pretty  wit,  and  understood  almost  all  the  roll  of  no- 
bility. Though  he  loved  the  Bourbons  with  noble  frankness, 
believed  in  God  as  gentlemen  believe,  and  read  only  the 
Quotidienne,  he  was  by  no  means  so  ridiculous  as  the  Liberals 
of  his  department  would  have  wished.  He  could  hold  his 
ovvn  with  men  about  the  Court,  so  long  as  he  was  not  expected 


166 


MADAME  FIRMIANI 


to  talk  of  Mose,  or  the  play,  or  romanticism,  or  local  color, 
or  railways.  He  had  not  got  beyond  Monsieur  de  Voltaire, 
Monsieur  le  Comte  de  Buffon,  Peyronnet,  and  the  Chevalier 
Gluck,  the  Queen's  private  musician. 

"Madame,"  said  he  to  the  Marquise  de  Listomere,  to  whom 
he  had  given  his  arm  to  go  into  Madame  Firmiani's  room, 
"if  this  woman  is  my  nephew's  mistress,  I  pity  her.  How  can 
she  bear  to  live  in  the  midst  of  luxury  and  know  that  he  is  in 
a  garret?  Has  she  no  soul?  Octave  is  a  fool  to  have  in- 
vested the  price  of  the  estate  of  Villaines  in  the  heart  of 
a  

Monsieur  de  Bourbonne  was  of  a  Fossil  species,  and  spoke 
only  the  language  of  a  past  day. 

"But  suppose  he  had  lost  it  at  play?'' 

"Well,  madame,  he  would  have  had  the  pleasure  of  play- 
ing."^ 

"You  think  he  has  had  no  pleasure  for  his  money? — ^Look, 
here  is  Madame  Firmiani." 

The  old  uncle's  brightest  memories  paled  at  the  sight  of 
his  nephew's  supposed  mistress.  His  anger  died  in  a  polit<i 
speech  wrung  from  him  by  the  presence  of  Madame  Firmiani. 
By  one  of  these  chances  which  come  only  to  pretty  women, 
it  was  a  moment  when  all  her  beauties  shone  with  particular 
brilliancy,  the  result,  perhaps,  of  the  glitter  of  waxlights, 
of  an  exquisitely  simple  dress,  of  an  indefinable  reflection 
from  the  elegance  in  which  she  lived  and  moved.  Only  long 
study  of  the  petty  revolutions  of  an  evening  party  in  a  Paris 
salon  can  enable  one  to  appreciate  the  imperceptible  shades 
that  can  tinge  and  change  a  woman's  face.  There  are  mo- 
ments when,  pleased  with  her  dress,  feeling  herself  brilliant, 
happy  at  being  admired  and  seeing  herself  the  queen  of  a 
room  full  of  remarkable  men  all  smiling  at  her,  a  Parisian 
is  conscious  of  her  beauty  and  grace;  she  grows  the  lovelier 
by  all  the  looks  she  meets ;  they  give  her  animation,  but  their 
mute  homage  is  transmitted  by  subtle  glances  to  the  man  she 
loves.  In  such  a  moment  a  woman  is  invested,  as  it  were, 
with  supernatural  power,  and  becomes  a  witch,  an  uncon- 


MADAME  FIRMIANI 


167 


Bcious  coquette;  she  involuntarily  inspires  the  passion  which 
is  a  secret  intoxication  to  herself,  she  has  smiles  and  looks 
that  are  fascinating.  If  this  excitement  which  comes  from 
the  soul  lends  attractiveness  even  to  ugly  women,  with  what 
splendor  does  it  not  clothe  a  naturally  elegant  creature,  finely 
made,  fair,  fresh,  bright-eyed,  and,  above  all,  dressed  with 
such  taste  as  artists  and  even  her  most  spiteful  rivals  must 
admit. 

Have  you  ever  met,  for  your  happiness,  some  woman  whose 
harmonious  tones  give  to  her  speech  the  charm  that  is  no  less 
conspicuous  in  her  manners,  who  knows  how  to  talk  and  to 
be  silent,  who  cares  for  you  with  delicate  feeling,  whose  words 
are  happily  chosen  and  her  language  pure?  Her  banter 
flatters  you,  her  criticism  does  not  sting;  she  neither  preaches 
nor  disputes,  but  is  interested  in  leading  a  discussion,  and 
stops  it  at  the  right  moment.  Her  manner  is  friendly  and 
gay,  her  politeness  is  unforced,  her  eagerness  to  please  is  not 
servile ;  she  reduces  respect  to  a  mere  gentle  shade ;  she  never 
tires  you,  and  leaves  you  satisfied  with  her  and  yourself.  You 
will  see  her  gracious  presence  stamped  on  the  things  she  ci^i- 
lects  about  her.  In  her  home  everj^thing  charms  the  eye,  and 
you  breathe,  as  it  seems,  your  native  air.  This  woman  is  quite 
natural.  You  never  feel  an  eifort,  she  flaunts  nothing,  her 
feelings  are  expressed  with  simplicity  because  they  are 
genuine.  Though  candid,  she  never  wounds  the  most  sensi- 
tive pride;  she  accepts  men  as  God  made  them,  pitying  the 
vicious,  forgiving  defects  and  absurdities,  sympathizing  with 
every  age,  and  vexed  with  nothing  because  she  has  the  tact 
to  forefend  everything.  At  once  tender  and  lively,  she  first 
constrains  and  then  consoles  you.  You  love  her  so  truly,  that 
if  this  angel  does  wrong,  you  are  ready  to  Justify  her.— 
Then  you  know  Madame  Firmiani. 

By  the  time  old  Bourbonne  had  talked  with  this  woman 
for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  sitting  by  her  side,  his  nephew 
was  absolved.  He  understood  that,  true  or  false.  Octave's 
connection  with  Madame  Firmiani  no  doubt  covered  some 
mystery.   Returning  to  the  illusions  of  his  youth,  and  judg- 


168 


MADAME  FlRMIANl 


ing  of  Madame  Firmiani's  heart  by  her  beauty,  the  old  gen- 
tleman thought  that  a  woman  so  sure  of  her  dignity  as  she 
seemed,  was  incapable  of  a  base  action.  Her  black  eyes 
spoke  of  so  much  peace  of  mind,  the  lines  of  her  face  were 
so  noble,  the  forms  so  pure,  and  the  passion  of  which  she 
was  accused  seemed  to  weigh  so  little  on  her  heart,  that,  as 
he  admired  all  the  pledges  given  to  love  and  to  virtue  by 
that  adorable  countenance,  the  old  man  said  to  himself,  ^^y 
nephew  has  committed  some  f  olly/^ 

Madame  Firmiani  owned  to  twenty-five.  But  the  Matter- 
of -facts  could  prove  that,  having  been  married  in  1813  at 
the  age  of  sixteen,  she  must  be  at  least  eight-and-twenty  in 
1825.  Nevertheless  the  same  persons  declared  that  she  had 
never  at  any  period  of  her  life  been  so  desirable,  so  perfectly 
a  woman.  She  had  no  children,  and  had  never  had  any ;  the 
hypothetical  Firmiani,  a  respectable  man  of  forty  in  1813, 
had,  it  was  said,  only  his  name  and  fortune  to  offer  her. 
So  Madame  Firmiani  had  come  to  the  age  when  a  Parisian 
best  understands  what  passion  is,  and  perhaps  longs  for  it 
innocently  in  her  unemployed  hours;  she  had  everything 
that  the  world  can  sell,  or  lend,  or  give.  The  Attaches  de- 
clared she  knew  everything,  the  Contradictories  said  she  had 
yet  many  things  to  learn ;  the  Observers  noticed  that  her  hands 
were  very  white,  her  foot  very  small,  her  movements  a  little 
too  undulating;  but  men  of  every  species  envied  or  disputed 
Octave's  good  fortune,  agreeing  that  she  was  the  most  aris- 
tocratic beauty  in  Paris. 

Still  young,  rich,  a  perfect  musician,  witty,  exquisite ;  wel- 
comed, for  the  sake  of  the  Cadignans,  to  whom  she  was  re- 
lated through  her  mother,  by  the  Princesse  de  Blamont- 
Chauvry,  the  oracle  of  the  aristocratic  quarter;  beloved  by 
her  rivals  the  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse  her  cousin,  the 
Marquise  d'Espard,  and  Madame  de  Macumer,  she  flattered 
every  vanity  which  feeds  or  excites  love.  And,  indeed,  she 
was  the  object  of  too  many  desires  not  to  be  the  victim  of 
fashionable  attraction  and  those  delightful  calumnies  which 
are  wittily  hinted  behind  a  fan  or  in  a  v/hispered  aside. 


MADAME  FIRM  I  AN  I 


169 


Hence  the  remarks  with  which  this  story  opened  were  neces- 
sary to  mark  the  contrast  between  the  real  Firmiani  and 
the  Firmiani  known  to  the  world.  Though  some  women  for- 
gave her  for  being  happy,  others  could  not  overlook  her  re- 
spectability; now  there  is  nothing  so  terrible,  especially  in 
Paris,  as  suspicion  without  foundation;  it  is  impossible  to 
kill  it. 

This  sketch  of  a  personality  so  admirable  by  nature  can 
only  give  a  feeble  idea  of  it;  it  would  need  the  brush  of  an 
Ingres  to  represent  the  dignity  of  the  brow,  the  mass  of 
fine  hair,  the  majesty  of  the  eyes,  all  the  thoughts  betrayed 
by  the  varying  hues  of  the  complexion.  There  was  some- 
thing of  everything  in  this  woman;  poets  could  see  in  her 
both  Joan  of  Arc  and  Agnes  Sorel;  but  there  was  also  the 
anknown  woman — the  soul  hidden  behind  this  decep- 
tive mask — ^the  soul  of  Eve,  the  wealth  of  evil,  and  the 
treasures  of  goodness,  wrong  and  resignation,  crime  and  self- 
.■^i-acrifice — the  Dona  Julia  and  Haidee  of  Byron's  Don  Juan. 

The  old  soldier  very  boldly  remained  till  the  last  in  Mad- 
ame Firmiani's  drawing-room;  she  found  him  quietly  seated 
in  an  armchair,  and  staying  with  the  pertinacity  of  a  fly 
that  must  be  killed  to  be  got  rid  of.  The  clock  marked  two 
in  the  morning. 

"Madame,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  just  as  Madame 
Firmiani  rose  in  the  hope  of  making  her  guest  understand 
that  it  was  her  pleasure  that  he  should  go.  "Madame,  I  am 
Monsieur  Octave  de  Camps'  uncle." 

Madame  Firmiani  at  once  sat  down  again,  and  her  agita- 
tion was  evident.  In  spite  of  his  perspicacity,  the  planter 
of  poplars  could  not  make  up  his  mind  whether  shame  or 
pleasure  made  her  turn  pale.  There  are  pleasures  which  do 
not  exist  without  a  little  coy  bashfulness — delightful  emo- 
tions which  the  chastest  soul  would  fain  keep  behind  a  veil. 
The  more  sensitive  a  wom^an  is,  the  more  she  lives  to  conceal 
her  soul's  greatest  joys.  Many  women,  incomprehensible  in 
their  exquisite  caprices,  at  times  long  to  hear  a  name  spoken 
by  all  the  world,  while  they  sometimes  would  sooner  bury  it 


170 


MADAME  FIRMIANI 


in  their  hearts.  Old  Bourbonne  did  not  read  Madame 
Firmiani's  agitation  quite  in  this  light;  but  forgive  him; 
the  country  gentleman  was  suspicious. 

^'Indeed,  monsieur?"  said  Madame  Firmiani,  wi^h  one  of 
those  clear  and  piercing  looks  in  which  we  men  can  never 
see  anything,  because  they  question  us  too  keenly. 

"Indeed,  madame;  and  do  you  know  what  I  have  been 
told — I,  in  the  depths  of  the  country?  That  my  nephew 
has  ruined  himself  for  you;  and  the  unhappy  boy  is  in  a 
garret,  while  you  live  here  in  gold  and  silks.  You  will,  I 
hope,  forgive  my  rustic  frankness,  for  it  may  be  useful  to 
you  to  be  informed  of  the  slander.'^ 

"Stop,  monsieur,"  said  Madame  Firmiani,  interrupting 
the  gentleman  with  an  imperious  gesture,  "I  know  all  that. 
You  are  too  polite  to  keep  the  conversation  to  this  subject 
when  I  beg  you  to  change  it.  You  are  too  gallant,  in  the 
old-fashioned  sense  of  the  word,"  she  added,  with  a  slightly 
ironical  emphasis,  "not  to  acknowledge  that  you  have  no 
right  to  cross-question  me.  However,  it  is  ridiculous  in  me 
to  justify  myself.  I  hope  you  have  a  good  enough  opinion 
of  my  character  to  believe  in  the  utter  contempt  I  feel  for 
money,  though  I  was  married  without  any  fortune  what- 
ever to  a  man  who  had  an  immense  fortune.  I  do  not  know 
whether  your  nephew  is  rich  or  poor;  if  I  have  received 
him,  if  I  still  receive  him,  it  is  because  I  regard  him  as 
worthy  to  move  in  the  midst  of  my  friends.  All  my  friends, 
monsieur,  respect  each  other;  they  know  that  I  am  not  so 
philosophical  as  to  entertain  people  whom  I  do  not  esteem. 
That,  perhaps,  shows  a  lack  of  charity;  but  my  guardian 
angel  has  preserved  in  me,  to  this  day,  an  intense  aversion 
for  gossip  and  dishonor." 

Though  her  voice  was  not  quite  firm  at  the  beginning  of 
this  reply,  the  last  words  were  spoken  by  Madame  Firmiani 
with  the  cool  decision  of  Celimene  rallying  the  Misanthrope. 

"Madame,"  the  Count  resumed  in  a  broken  voice,  "I  am 
an  old  man — I  am  almost  a  father  to  Octave — I  therefore 
must  humbly  crave  your  pardon  beforehand  for  the  only 


MADAME  FIRMIANI 


171 


qaestion  I  shall  be  so  bold  as  to  ask  you ;  and  I  give  you  my 
word  of  honor  as  a  gentleman  that  your  reply  will  die  here," 
and  he  laid  his  hand  on  his  heart  with  a  really  religious 
gesture.   "Does  gossip  speak  the  truth ;  do  you  love  Octave-?" 

"Monsieur/'  said  she,  "I  should  answer  any  one  else  with 
a  look.  But  you,  since  you  are  almost  a  father  to  Monsieur 
de  Camps,  you  I  will  ask  what  you  would  think  of  a  woman 
who,  in  reply  to  your  question,  should  say.  Yes.  To  confess 
one's  love  to  the  man  we  love — when  he  loves  us — well,  well ; 
when  we  are  sure  of  being  loved  for  ever,  believe  me,  monsieur, 
it  is  an  effort  to  us  and  a  reward  to  him ;  but  to  any  one  else ! 

 if 

Madame  Firmiani  did  not  finish  her  sentence;  she  rose, 
bowed  to  the  good  gentleman,  and  vanished  into  her  private 
rooms,  where  the  sound  of  doors  opened  and  shut  in  succes- 
sion had  language  to  the  ears  of  the  poplar  planter. 

"Damn  it !"  said  he  to  himself,  "what  a  woman !  She  is 
tiiither  a  very  cunning  hussy  or  an  angel;"  and  he  went 
down  to  his  hired  fly  in  the  courtyard,  where  the  horses  were 
pawing  the  pavement  in  silence.  The  coachman  was  asleep, 
after  having  cursed  his  customer  a  hundred  times. 

Next  morning,  by  about  eight  o'clock,  the  old  gentleman 
was  mounting  the  stairs  of  a  house  in  the  Kue  de  I'Observance, 
where  dwelt  Octave  de  Camps.  If  there  was  in  this  world  a 
man  amazed,  it  was  the  young  professor  on  seeing  his  uncle. 
The  key  was  in  the  door.  Octave's  lamp  was  still  burning; 
he  had  sat  up  all  night. 

"Now,  you  rascal,"  said  Monsieur  de  Bourbonne,  seating 
himself  in  an  armchair.  "How  long  has  it  been  the  fashion 
to  make  fools  (speaking  mildly)  of  uncles  who  have  twenty- 
six  thousand  francs  a  year  in  good  land  in  Touraine?  and 
that,  when  you  are  sole  heir?  Do  you  know  that  fo'l^nerly 
such  relations  were  treated  with  respect  ?  Pray,  have  you  any 
fault  to  find  with  me?  Have  I  bungled  my  business  as  an 
uncle  ?  Have  I  demanded  your  respect  ?  Have  I  ever  refused 
you  money?  Have  I  shut  my  door  in  your  face,  saying  you 
had  only  come  to  see  how  I  was?  Have  you  not  the  most  ac- 


172 


MADAME  FIRMIANI 


commodating,  the  least  exacting  uncle  in  France  ? — I  will  not 
say  in  Europe,  it  would  be  claiming  too  much.  You  write 
to  me,  or  you  don't  write.  I  live  on  your  professions  of  af- 
fection. I  am  laying  out  the  prettiest  estate  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, a  place  that  is  the  object  of  envy  in  all  the  department ; 
but  I  do  not  mean  to  leave  it  you  till  the  latest  date  pos- 
sible— a  weakness  that  is  very  pardonable !  And  my  gentle- 
man sells  his  property,  is  lodged  like  a  groom,  has  no  servants, 

keeps  no  style  " 

"My  dear  uncle  " 

"It  is  not  a  case  of  uncle,  but  of  nephew.  I  have  a  right 
to  your  confidence;  so  have  it  all  out  at  once;  it  is  the 
easiest  way,  I  know  by  experience.  Have  you  been  gambling  ? 
Have  you  been  speculating  on  the  Bourse?  Come,  say, 
'Uncle,  I  am  a  wretch,'  and  we  kiss  and  are  friends.  But  if 
you  tell  me  any  lie  bigger  than  those  I  told  at  your  age,  I 
will  sell  my  property,  buy  an  annuity,  and  go  back  to  the 
bad  ways  of  my  youth,  if  it  is  not  too  late." 

"Uncle  " 

"I  went  last  night  to  see  your  Madame  Firmiani,"  said 
the  uncle,  kissing  the  tips  of  all  his  fingers  together.  "She 
is  charming,"  he  went  on.  "You  have  the  Idng's  warrant 
and  approval,  and  your  uncle's  consent,  if  that  is  any  satis- 
faction to  you.  As  to  the  sanction  of  the  Church,  that  I  sup- 
pose is  unnecessary — the  sacraments,  no  doubt,  are  too  costly. 
Come,  speak  out.  Is  it  for  her  that  you  have  ruined  your- 
self?" 

"Yes,  uncle." 

"Ah!  the  hussy!  I  would  have  bet  upon  it.  In  my  day 
a  woman  of  fashion  could  ruin  a  man  more  cleverly  than 
any  of  your  courtesans  of  to-day.  I  saw  in  her  a  resuscitar 
tion^.^(>^.the  last  century." 

"Ifficlo,"  said  Octave,  in  a  voice  that  was  at  once  sad  and 
gentle,  "you  are  under  a  mistake.  Madame  Firmiani  deserves 
your  esteem,  and  all  the  adoration  of  her  admirers." 

"So  hapless  youth  is  always  the  same!"  said  Monsieur  de 
Bourbonne.    "Well,  well!  go  on  in  your  own  way;  tell  me 


MADAME  PIllMIANl 


173 


all  the  old  stories  once  more.  At  the  same  time,  you  know. 
I  dare  say,  that  I  am  no  chicken  in  such  matters." 

"My  dear  uncle,  here  is  a  letter  which  will  explain  every- 
thing," replied  Octave,  taking  out  an  elegant  letter-case — her 
gift,  no  doubt.  "When  you  have  read  it  I  will  tell  you  the 
rest,  and  y.  >\i  will  know  Madame  Firmiani  as  the  world  knows 
her  not." 

"I  ha\  3  not  got  my  spectacles,"  said  his  uncle.  "Read  it 
to  me." 

Octave  began:  "My  dear  love  " 

"Then  you  are  very  intimate  with  this  woman?'' 

"Why,  yes,  uncle?" 

"And  you  have  not  quarreled?" 

"Quarreled !"  echoed  Octave  in  surprise.  "We  are  married 
•r— at  Gretna  Green." 

"Well,  then,  why  do  you  dine  for  forty  sous?" 

"Let  me  proceed." 

"Very  true.   I  am  listening." 

Octave  took  up  the  letter  again,  and  could  not  read  cer- 
tain passages  without  strong  emotion. 

"  ^My  beloved  husband,  you  ask  me  the  reason  of  my  mel- 
juicholy.  Has  it  passed  from  my  soul  into  my  face,  or  have 
you  only  guessed  it  ?  And  why  should  you  not  ?  Our  hearts 
are  so  closely  united.  Besides,  I  cannot  lie,  though  that 
perhaps  is  a  misfortune.  One  of  the  conditions  of  being  loved 
is,  in  a  woman,  to  be  always  caressing  and  gay.  Perhaps  I 
ought  to  deceive  you;  but  I  would  not  do  so,  not  even  if  it 
were  to  increase  or  to  preserve  the  happiness  you  give  me — 
you  lavish  on  me — under  which  you  overwhelm  me.  Oh,  m.y 
dear,  my  love  carries  with  it  so  much  gratitude!  And  I 
must  love  for  ever,  without  measure.  Yes.,  I  must  always 
be  proud  of  you.  Our  glory — a  woman's  glory — is  all  in  the 
man  she  loves.  Esteem,  consideration,  honor,  are  they  not 
all  his  who  has  conquered  everything?  Well,  and  my  angel 
has  fallen.  Yes,  my  dear,  your  last  confession  has  dimmed 
my  past  happiness.  From  that  moment  I  have  felt  myself 
humbled  through  you — you,  whom  1  believed  to  be  the  purest 


174 


MADAME  FIRMIANl 


of  men,  as  you  are  the  tenderest  and  most  loving.  I  must 
have  supreme  confidence  in  your  still  childlike  heart  to  make 
an  avowal  which  costs  me  so  dear.  What,  poor  darling,  your 
father  stole  his  fortune,  and  you  know  it,  and  you  keep  it! 
And  you  could  tell  me  of  this  attorney's  triumph  in  a  room 
full  of  the  dumb  witnesses  of  our  love,  and  you  are  a  gentle- 
man, and  you  think  yourself  noble,  and  I  am  yours,  and  you 
are  two-and-twenty  !    How  monstrous  all  through ! 

"  ''I  have  sought  excuses  for  you ;  I  have  ascribed  your  in- 
difference to  your  giddy  youth;  I  know  there  is  still  much 
of  the  child  in  you.  Perhaps  you  have  never  yet  thought 
seriously  of  what  is  meant  by  wealth,  and  by  honesty.  Oh, 
your  laughter  hurt  me  so  much!  Only  think,  there  is  a 
family,  ruined,  always  in  grief,  girls  perhaps,  who  curse  you 
day  by  day,  an  old  man  who  says  to  himself  every  night, 
"I  should  not  lack  bread  if  Monsieur  de  Camps'  father  had 
only  been  an  honest  man."  '  " 

"What !"  exclaimed  Monsieur  de  Bourbonne,  interrupting 
him,  "were  you  such  an  idiot  as  to  tell  that  woman  the  story 
of  your  father's  affair  with  the  Bourgneufs?   Women  bettei: 

understand  spending  a  fortune  than  maJ^ing  one  " 

"They  understand  honesty.  Let  me  go  on,  uncle ! 
"  ^Octave,  no  power  on  earth  is  authorized  to  garble  th(^ 
language  of  honor.  Look  into  your  conscience,  and  ask  it  by 
what  name  to  call  the  action  to  which  you  owe  your  riches.' " 
And  the  nephew  looked  at  his  uncle,  who  beat  his  head. 
"  'I  will  not  tell  you  all  the  thoughts  that  beset  me ;  they 
can  all  be  reduced  to  one,  which  is  this:  I  cannot  esteem  a 
man  who  knowingly  soils  himself  for  a  sum  of  money  whether 
large  or  small.  Five  francs  stolen  at  play,  or  six  times  a 
hundred  thousand  francs  obtained  by  legal  trickery,  disgrace 
a  man  equally.  I  must  tell  you  all:  I  feel  myself  sullied 
by  a  love  which  till  now  was  all  my  joy.  From  the  bottom  of 
my  soul  there  comes  a  voice  I  cannot  stifle.  I  have  wept 
to  find  that  my  conscience  is  stronger  than  my  love.  You 
might  commit  a  crime,  and  I  would  hide  you  in  my  bosom 
from  human  justice  if  I  could;  but  my  devotion  would  go 


MADAME  FIKMIANI 


175 


no  further.  Love,  my  dearest,  is,  in  a  woman,  llie  most 
unlimited  confidence,  joined  to  I  know  not  what  craving  to 
reverence  and  adore  the  being  to  whom  she  belongs.  I  have 
never  conceived  of  love  but  as  a  fire  in  which  the  noblest 
feelings  were  yet  further  purified — a  fire  which  develops  them 
to  the  utmost. 

'I  have  but  one  thing  more  to  say :  Come  to  me  poor,  and 
I  shall  love  you  twice  as  much  if  possible;  if  not,  give  me  up. 
If  I  see  you  no  more,  I  know  what  is  left  to  me  to  do. 

*But,  now,  understand  me  clearly,  I  will  not  have  you 
make  restitution  because  I  desire  it.  Consult  your  conscience. 
This  is  an  act  of  justice,  and  must  not  be  done  as  a  sacrifice 
to  love.  I  am  your  wife,  and  not  your  mistress;  the  point 
is  not  to  please  me,  but  to  inspire  me  with  the  highest  es- 
teem. If  I  have  misunderstood,  if  you  have  not  clearly  ex- 
pained  your  father's  action,  in  short,  if  you  can  regard  your 
fortune  as  legitimately  acquired — and  how  gladly  would  I 
persuade  myself  that  you  deserve  no  blame — decide  as  the 
voice  of  conscience  dictates ;  act  wholly  for  yourself.  A  man 
who  truly  loves,  as  you  love  me,  has  too  high  a  respect  for 
all  the  holy  inspiration  he  may  get  from  his  wife  to  be  dis- 
honorable. 

'^'I  blame  myself  now  for  all  I  have  written.  A  word 
would  perhaps  have  been  enough,  and  my  preaching  instinct 
has  carried  me  away.  So  I  should  like  to  be  scolded — not 
much,  but  a  little.  My  dear,  between  you  and  me  are  not 
you  the  Power!  You  only  should  detect  your  own  faults. 
Well,  master  mine,  can  you  say  I  understand  nothing  about 
political  discussion  " 

'^ell,  uncle     said  Octave,  whose  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 

^'I  see  more  writing,  finish  it." 

"Oh,  there  is  nothing  further  but  such  things  as  only  a 
lover  may  read." 

"Very  good,"  said  the  old  man.  "Very  good,  my  dear 
boy.  I  was  popular  with  the  women  in  my  day;  but  I  would 
have  you  to  believe  that  I  too  have  loved ;  et  ego  in  Arcadia. 
Still,  I  cannot  imagine  why  you  give  lessons  in  mathematics.'' 


176 


MADAME  PIRMIANI 


^^My  dear  uncle,  I  am  your  nephew.  Is  not  that  as  much  as 
to  say  that  I  have  made  some  inroads  on  the  fortune  left 
to  me  by  my  father?  After  reading  that  letter  a  complete 
revolution  took  place  in  me,  in  one  instant  I  paid  up  the 
arrears  of  remorse.  I  could  never  describe  to  you  the  state 
in  which  I  was.  As  I  drove  my  cab  to  the  Bois  a  voice  cried 
to  me,  ^Is  that  horse  yours  ?'  As  I  ate  my  dinner,  I  said  to 
myself,  'Have  you  not  stolen  the  food?'  I  was  ashamed  of 
myself.  My  honesty  was  ardent  in  proportion  to  its  youth. 
First  I  flew  off  to  Madame  Firmiani.  Ah,  my  dear  uncle, 
that  day  I  had  such  joys  of  heart,  such  raptures  of  soul  as 
were  worth  millions.  With  her  I  calculated  how  much  I 
owed  the  Bourgneuf  family;  and  I  sentenced  myself,  against 
Madame  Firmiani's  advice,  to  pay  them  interest  at  the  rate 
of  three  per  cent.  But  my  whole  fortune  was  not  enough 
to  refund  the  sum.  We  were  both  of  us  lovers  enough — 
husband  and  wife  enough — for  her  to  offer  and  for  me  to 
accept  her  savings  " 

"What,  besides  all  her  virtues,  that  adorable  woman  can 
save  money!''  cried  the  uncle. 

"Do  not  laugh  at  her.  Her  position  compels  her  to  som(3 
thrift.  Her  husband  went  to  Greece  in  1820,  and  died  about 
three  years  ago;  but  to  this  day  it  has  been  impossible  to  get 
legal  proof  of  his  death,  or  to  lay  hands  on  the  will  he  no 
doubt  made  in  favor  of  his  wife ;  this  important  document  was 
stolen,  lost,  or  mislaid  in  a  country  where  a  man's  papers 
are  not  kept  as  they  are  in  France,  nor  is  there  a  Consul. 
So,  not  knowing  whether  she  may  not  some  day  have  to 
reckon  with  other  and  malignant  heirs,  she  is  obliged  to  be. 
extremely  careful,  for  she  does  not  wish  to  have  to  give  up  her 
wealth  as  Chateaubriand  has  just  given  up  the  Ministry. 
Now  1  mean  to  earn  a  fortune  that  shall  be  mine,  so  as  to 
:  restore  my  wife  to  opulence  if  she  should  be  ruined." 

"And  you  never  told  me — you  never  came  to  me.  My  dear 
nephew,  believe  me  I  love  you  well  enough  to  pay  your  honest 
debts,  your  debts  as  a  gentleman.  I  am  the  Uncle  of  the 
fifth  act — I  will  be  revenged." 


MADAME  FIRMIANl 


''I  know  your  revenges,  uncle ;  but  let  me  grow  rich  by  my 
own  toil.  If  you  wish  to  befriend  me,  allow  me  a  thousand 
crowns  a  year  until  I  need  capital  for  some  business.  I  de- 
clare at  this  moment  I  am  so  happy  that  all  I  care  about  is  to 
live.   I  give  lessons  that  I  may  be  no  burden  on  any  on^^. 

"Ah,  if  you  could  but  know  with  what  delight  I  made  resti- 
tution. After  making  some  inquiries  I  found  the  Bourgneufs 
in  misery  and  destitution.  They  were  living  at  Saint- 
Germain  in  a  wretched  house.  The  old  father  was  manager 
in  a  lottery  office;  the  two  girls  did  the  work  of  the  house 
and  kept  the  accounts.  The  mother  was  almost  always  ill. 
The  two  girls  are  charming,  but  they  have  learnt  by  bitter 
experience  how  little  the  world  cares  for  beauty  without  for- 
tune. What  a  picture  did  I  find  there!  If  I  went  to  the 
Aouse  as  the  accomplice  in  a  crime,  I  came  out  of  it  an  honest 
man,  and  I  have  purged  my  father's  memory.  I  do  not  judge 
him,  uncle ;  thei'e  is  in  a  lawsuit  an  eagerness,  a  passion  which 
may  sometimes  blind  the  most  honest  man  alive.  Lawyers 
know  how  to  legitimatize  the  most  preposterous  claims ;  there 
are  syllogisms  in  law  to  humor  the  errors  of  conscience,  and 
judges  have  a  right  to  make  mistakes.  My  adventure  was 
a  perfect  drama.  To  have  played  the  part  of  Providence, 
to  have  fulfilled  one  of  these  hopeless  wishes :  ^If  only  twenty 
thousand  francs  a  year  could  drop  from  heaven!' — a  wish 
we  all  have  uttered  in  jest ;  to  see  a  sublime  look  of  gratitude, 
amazement,  and  admiration  take  the  place  of  a  glance  fraught 
with  curses;  to  bring  opulence  into  the  midst  of  a  family 
sitting  round  a  turf  fire  in  the  evening,  by  the  light  of  a 
wretched  lamp — No,  words  cannot  paint  such  a  scene.  My 
excessive  justice  to  them  seemed  unjust.  Well,  if  there  be  a 
Paradise,  my  father  must  now  be  happy. — As  for  myself,  I 
am  loved  as  man  was  never  loved  before.  Madame  Firmiani 
has  given  me  more  than  happiness ;  she  has  taught  me  a  deli- 
cacy of  feeling  which  perhaps  I  lacked.  Indeed,  I  call  her 
Dear  Conscience,  one  of  those  loYing  names  that  are  the  out- 
come of  certain  secret  harmonies  of  spirit.  Honesty  is  said  to 
pay ;  I  hope  ere  long  to  be  rich  myself ;  at  this  moment  I  am 


178 


MADAME  FIEMIANl 


bent  on  solving  a  great  industrial  problem,  and  if  I  succeed  J 
shall  make  millions." 

"My  boy,  you  have  your  mother's  soul,"  said  the  old  man, 
hardly  able  to  restrain  the  tears  that  rose  at  the  remembrance 
of  his  sister. 

At  this  instant,  in  spite  of  the  height  above  the  ground 
of  Octave's  room,  the  young  man  and  his  uncle  heard  the 
noise  of  a  carriage  driving  up. 

"It  is  she !   I  know  her  horses  by  the  way  they  pull  up." 

And  it  was  not  long  before  Madame  Firmiani  made  her 
appearance. 

"Oh !"  she  cried,  with  an  impulse  of  annoyance  on  seeing 
Monsieur  de  Bourbonne.  "But  our  uncle  is  not  in  the  way," 
she  went  on  with  a  sudden  smile.  "I  have  come  to  kneel  at 
my  husband's  feet  and  humbly  beseech  him  to  accept  my 
fortune.  I  have  just  received  from  the  Austrian  Embassy 
a  document  proving  Firmiani's  death.  The  paper,  drawn  up 
by  the  kind  offices  of  the  Austrian  envoy  at  Constantinople,  is 
quite  formal,  and  the  will  which  Firmiani's  valet  had  in  keep- 
ing for  me  is  subjoined. — There,  you  are  richer  than  I  am, 
for  you  have  there,"  and  she  tapped  her  husband's  breast, 
"treasures  which  only  God  can  add  to."  Then,  unable  to 
disguise  her  happiness,  she  hid  her  face  in  Octave's  bosom. 

'''My  sweet  niece,  we  made  love  when  I  was  young,"  said 
the  uncle,  "but  now  you  love.  You  women  are  all  that  is 
good  and  lovely  in  humanity,  for  you  are  never  guilty  of  your 
faults ;  they  always  originate  with  us." 

Pabib,  February  1831. 


PIERRETTE 


To  Mademoiselle  Anna  de  Hanska 

Dear  Child,— You,  the  joy  of  a  whole  house,  you,  whose  whit€ 
or  rose-colored  cape  flutters  in  the  summer  like  a  will-o'-the-wisp 
through  the  arbors  of  Wierzchownia,  followed  by  the  wistful 
eyes  of  your  father  and  mother— how  can  I  dedicate  to  you  a  tale 
,full  of  sadness?  But  is  it  not  well  to  tell  you  of  sorrows  such  as 
a  girl  so  fondly  loved  as  you  are  will  never  know?  For  some 
Jay  your  fair  hands  may  take  them  comfort.  It  is  so  difficult, 
Anna,  to  find  in  the  picture  of  our  manners  any  incident  worthy 
to  meet  your  eye,  that  an  author  has  no  choice;  but  perhaps  you 
may  discern  how  happy  you  are  from  reading  this  tale,  sent  by 

Your  old  friend, 

De  Balzac. 

In  October  1827,  at  break  of  day,  a  youth  of  about  sixteen, 
tvhose  dress  proclaimed  him  to  be  what  modem  phraseology 
insolently  calls  a  proletarian,  was  standing  on  a  little  square 
in  the  lower  part  of  the  town  of  Provins.  At  this  early  hour 
he  could,  without  being  observed,  study  the  various  houses 
set  round  the  Place  in  an  oblong  square.  The  mills  on  the 
streams  of  Provins  were  already  at  work.  Their  noise,  re- 
peated by  the  echoes  from  the  upper  town,  and  harmonizing 
with  the  sharp  air  and  the  clear  freshness  of  the  morning, 
bewrayed  the  perfect  silence — so  complete  that  the  clatter  of 
a  diligence  was  audible,  still  a  league  away  on  the  highroad. 

The  two  longer  rows  of  houses,  divided  by  an  arched  avenue 
of  lime-trees,  are  artless  in  style,  confessing  the  peaceful  and 
circumscribed  life  of  the  townsfolk.   In  this  part  of  the  town 

13 


180 


PiEHRETTK 


there  are  no  signs  of  trade.  At  that  time  there  was  hardly 
a  carriage-gate  suggesting  the  luxury  of  the  rich — or  if  there 
were,  it  rarely  turned  on  its  hinges — excepting  that  of  Mon- 
sieur Martener,  a  doctor  who  was  obliged  to  keep  and  use 
a  cab.  Some  of  the  fronts  were  graced  by  a  long  vine  stem, 
uchers  with  climbing  roses  growing  up  to  the  first  floor,  an'^ 
scenting  the  windows  with  their  large  scattered  bunches  of 
flowers.  One  end  of  this  Square  almost  joins  the  High  Street 
of  the  lower  town ;  the  other  end  is  shut  in  by  a  street  parallel 
with  the  High  Street,  and  the  gardens  beyond  run  down 
to  one  of  the  two  rivers  that  water  the  valley  of  Provins. 

At  this  end,  the  quietest  part  of  the  Place,  the  young  work- 
man recognized  the  house  that  had  been  described  to  him — a 
front  of  white  stone,  scored  with  seams  to  represent  joins  in 
the  masonry,  and  windows  with  light  iron  balconies,  decorated 
with  rosettes  painted  yellow,  and  closed  with  gray  Venetian 
shutters.  Above  this  fronts — a  ground  floor  and  a  first  floor 
only — three  attic  windows  pierce  a  slate-roof,  and  on  one 
of  the  gables  twirls  a  brand-new  weather-cock.  This  modern 
weather-cock  represents  a  sportsman  aiming  at  a  hare.  The 
front  door  is  reached  up  three  stone  steps.  On  one  side  of  the 
door  an  end  of  leaden  pipe  spouts  dirty  water  into  a  little 
gutter,  revealing  the  kitchen;  on  the  other,  two  windows, 
carefully  guarded  by  gray  wooden  shutters  in  which  heart- 
shaped  holes  arc  cut  to  admit  a  little  light,  seemed  to  our 
youth  to  be  those  of  the  dining-room.  In  the  basement 
secured  by  the  three  steps,  under  each  window  is  an  air- 
opening  into  the  cellars,  closed  by  painted  iron  shutters 
pierced  with  holes  in  a  pattern.  Everything  was  then  quite 
new.  An  observer,  looking  at  this  house  freshly  repaired, 
its  still  raw  splendor  contrasting  with  the  antique  aspect  of 
all  the  rest,  would  at  once  have  seen  in  it  the  mean  ideas 
and  perfect  contentment  of  a  retired  tradesman. 

The  young  fellow  gazed  at  every  detail  with  an  expression 
of  pleasure  mingled  with  sadness;  his  eyes  wandered  from 
the  kitchen  to  the  garret  with  a  look  that  denoted  meditation. 
Thje  pink  gleams  of  sunshine  showed  in  one  of  the  attic 


PllUKKETTE 


181 


windows  a  cotton  curtain  which  was  wanting  to  the  others. 
Then  the  lad's  face  brightened  completely;  he  withdrew  a 
few  steps,  leaned  his  back  against  a  lime-tree,  and  sang, 
in  the  drawling  tones  peculiar  to  the  natives  of  the  West, 
this  ballad  of  Brittany,  published  by  Bruguiere,  a  composer 
to  whom  we  owe  some  charming  airs.  In  Brittany  the  young 
swains  of  the  villages  sing  this  song  to  newly-married  couples 
on  their  wedding  day : — 

"We  come  to  wish  you  every  happiness, 
To  th'  maister  at  your  side. 
As  well  as  to  the  bride. 

"You,  mistress  bride,  are  bound  for  life  and  death, 
With  a  bright  golden  chaiu. 
That  none  may  breali  in  twain. 

"Now  you  to  fairs  and  junkets  go  no  more; 
Nay,  you  must  stay  at  home, 
While  we  may  dance  and  roam. 

"And  do  you  Ijnow  how  trusty  you  must  b(>. 
And  faithful  to  your  mate, 
To  love  him  rathe  and  late? 

"Then  take  this  posy  I  have  made  for  you. 
Alack!  for  happy  hours 
Must  perish  like  these  flowers." 

This  national  air,  as  sweet  as  that  arranged  by  Chateau- 
briand to  the  words  Ma  soeur,  te  souvient-il  encore?  sung  in 
a  little  town  of  la  Brie  in  Champagne,  could  not  fail  to  arouse 
irresistible  memories  in  a  native  of  Brittany,  so  faithfully 
does  it  paint  the  manners,  the  simplicity,  the  scenery  of  that 
noble  old  province.  There  is  in  it  an  intangible  melancholy, 
caused  by  the  realities  of  life,  which  is  deeply  touching.  And 
is  not  this  power  to  av/aken  a  whole  world  of  grave,  sweet. 
Bad  things  by  a  familiar  and  often  cheerful  strain,  charac- 


182 


PIERRETTE 


teristic  of  those  popular  airs  which  are  the  superstitions  of 
music,  if  we  accept  the  word  superstition  as  meaning  what 
remains  from  the  ruin  of  nations,  the  flotsam  left  by  revolu- 
tions ? 

As  he  ended  the  first  verse,  the  workman,  who  never  took 
his  eyes  off  the  curtain  in  the  attic,  saw  no  one  astir.  While 
he  was  singing  the  second,  it  moved  a  little.  As  he  sang  the 
words,  "Take  this  posy,"^  a  young  girl's  face  was  seen.  A 
fair  hand  cautiously  opened  the  window,  and  the  girl  nodded 
to  the  wanderer  as  he  ended  with  the  melancholy  reflection 
contained  in  the  last  two  lines : 

"Alack!  for  happy  hours 
Must  perish  like  these  flowers.*^ 

The  lad  suddenly  took  from  under  his  jacket,  and  held  up 
to  her,  a  golden-yellow  spray  of  a  flower  very  common  in 
Brittany,  which  he  had  picked  no  doubt  in  a  field  in  la  Brie, 
where  it  is  somewhat  rare — the  flower  of  the  furze. 

"Why,  is  it  you,  Brigaut  ?"  said  the  girl  in  a  low  voice. 

"Yes,  Pierrette,  yes.  I  am  living  in  Paris ;  I  am  walking 
about  France;  but  I  might  settle  down  here,  since  you  are 
here.'' 

At  this  moment  the  window-fastening  of  the  room  on  the 
first  floor,  below  Pierrette's,  was  heard  to  creak.  The  girl 
showed  the  greatest  alarm,  and  said  to  Brigaut,  "Fly !" 

The  young  fellow  jumped  like  a  frog  to  a  bend  in  the  street, 
round  a  mill,  before  entering  the  wider  street  that  is  the 
artery  of  the  lower  town ;  but  in  spite  of  his  agility,  his  hob- 
nailed shoes,  ringing  on  the  paving-cobbles  of  Provins,  made 
a  noise  easily  distinguished  from  the  music  of  the  mill,  and 
heard  by  the  individual  who  opened  the  window. 

This  person  was  a  woman.  Ko  man  ever  tears  himself  from 
the  delights  of  his  morning  slumbers  to  listen  to  a  minstrel 
in  a  round  jacket.  None  but  a  maid  is  roused  by  a  love  son^. 
And  this  was  a  maid — and  an  old  maid.  When  she  had 
thrown  open  her  shutters  with  the  action  of  a  bat,  she  looked 


PIERRETTK 


183 


about  her  on  all  sides,  and  faintly  heard  Brigant's  steps  as 
he  made  his  escape.  Is  there  on  earth  anything  more  hideous 
than  the  matutinal  apparition  of  an  ugly  old  maid  at  her 
window?  Of  all  the  grotesque  spectacles  that* are  the  amuse- 
ment of  travelers  as  they  go  through  little  towns,  is  it  not 
the  most  nnpleasing?  It  is  too  depressing,  too  repulsive  to 
be  laughed  at. 

This  particular  old  maid,  whose  ear  was  so  keen,  appeared 
bereft  of  the  artifices  of  all  kinds  that  she  used  to  improve 
herself;  she  had  no  front  of  false  hair,  and  no  collar.  Her 
headgear  was  the  frightful  little  caul  of  black  sarsnet  which 
old  women  draw  over  their  skull,  showing  beyond  her  night- 
cap, which  had  been  pushed  aside  in  her  sleep.  This  untidi- 
ness gave  her  head  the  sinister  appearance  ascribed  by 
painters  to  witches.  The  temples,  ears,  and  nape,  scarcely 
concealed,  betrayed  their  withered  leanness,  the  coarse 
wrinkles  were  conspicuous  for  a  redness  that  did  not  charm 
the  eye,  and  that  was  thrown  into  relief  by  the  comparative 
whiteness  of  a  bedgown  tied  at  the  throat  with  twisted  tapes. 
The  gaps  where  this  bedgown  fell  open  revealed  a  chest  like 
that  of  some  old  peasant  woman  careless  of  her  ugliness.  The 
fleshless  arm  might  have  been  a  stick  covered  with  stuff. 
Seen  at  the  window,  the  lady  appeared  tall  by  reason  of  the 
strength  and  breadth  of  her  face,  which  reminded  the  specta- 
tor of  the  extravagant  size  of  some  Swiss  countenances.  The 
chief  characteristic  of  the  features,  which  presented  a  sin- 
gular lack  of  harmony,  was  a  hardness  of  line,  a  harshness 
of  coloring,  and  a  lack  of  feeling  in  the  expression  which 
would  have  filled  a  physiognomist  with  disgust.  These  pecu- 
liarities, visible  now,  were  habitually  modified  by  a  sort  of 
business  smile,  and  a  vulgar  stupidity  which  aped  good-nature 
so  successfully  that  the  people  among  whom  she  lived  might 
easily  have  supposed  her  to  be  a  kind  woman. 

She  and  her  brother  shared  the  ownership  of  this  house. 
The  brother  was  sleeping  so  soundly  in  his  room  that  the 
Opera-house  orchestra  would  not  have  roused  him;  and  the 
power  of  that  orchestra  is  famous  1  The  old  maid  put  her 
head  out  of  the  window,  and  raised  her  eyes  to  that  of  the 


184 


PIERRETTiS 


attic — eyes  of  a  cold  pale  blue,  with  short  lashes  set  m  lids 
that  were  almost  always  swollen.  She  tried  to  see  Pierrette ; 
but  recognizing  the  futility  of  the  attempt,  she  withdrew 
into  her  room  with  a  movement  not  unlike  that  of  a  tortoise 
hiding  its  head  after  putting  it  out  of  its  shell.  The  shutters 
were  closed  again,  and  the  silence  of  the  Square  was  no  more 
disturbed  but  by  peasants  coming  into  the  town,  or  early 
risers.  When  there  is  an  old  maid  in  the  house  a  watch-dog 
is  not  needed ;  not  the  smallest  event  occurs  without  her  seeing 
it,  commenting  on  it,  and  deducing  every  possible  conse- 
quence. Thus  this  incident  was  destined  to  give  rise  to  serious 
inferences,  and  to  be  the  opening  of  one  of  those  obscure 
dramas  which  are  played  out  in  the  family,  but  which  are 
none  the  less  terrible  for  being  unseen — if  indeed  the  name; 
of  drama  may  be  applied  to  this  tragedy  of  home-life. 

Pierrette  did  not  get  into  bed  again.  To  her  Brigaut'a 
arrival  was  an  event  of  immense  importance.  During  the! 
night — the  Eden  of  the  wretched — she  escaped  from  the  an» 
noyances  and  fault-finding  she  had  to  endure  all  day.  Lik(j 
the  hero  of  some  German  or  Russian  ballad,  to  her  sleep 
seemed  a  happy  life,  and  the  day  a  bad  dream.  This  morn- 
ing, for  the  first  time  in  three  years,  she  had  had  a  happ}' 
waking.  The  memories  of  infancy  had  sweetly  sung  their 
poetr}^  to  her  soul.  She  had  heard  the  first  verse  in  hei' 
dreams ;  the  second  had  roused  her  with  a  start ;  at  the  third 
she  had  doubted — the  unfortunate  are  of  the  school  of  Saint 
Thomas;  at  the  fourth  verse,  standing  at  her  window,  bare- 
foot, and  in  her  shift,  she  had  recognized  Brigaut,  the  friend 
of  her  childhood. 

Yes,  that  was  indeed  the  short  square  jacket  with  quaint 
little  tails  and  pockets  swinging  just'  over  the  hips,  the 
classical  blue-cloth  jacket  of  the  Breton;  the  waistcoat  of 
coarse  knit,  the  linen  shirt  buttoned  with  a  golden  heart,  the 
wide-rolled  collar,  the  earrings,  heavy  shoes,  trousers  of  blue 
drill,  mottled  in  streaks  of  lighter  shades;  in  short,  all  the 
humble  and  durable  items  of  a  poor  Breton's  costume.  The 
large  wliite  horn  buttons  of  the  jacket  and  waistcoat  had  set 


PIBKRETTB 


185 


Pierrette's  heart  beating.  At  the  sight  of  the  branch  of  furze 
the  tears  had  started  to  her  eyes;  then  a  spasm  of  terror 
clutched  her  heart,  crushing  the  flowers  of  remembrance  that 
had  blossomed  for  a  moment.  It  struck  her  that  her  cousin 
might  have  heard  her  rise  and  go  to  the  window.  She  knew 
the  old  woman,  and  made  the  signal  of  alarm  to  Brigaut, 
which  the  poor  boy  had  hastened  to  obey  without  understand- 
ing it.  Does  not  this  instinctive  obedience  betray  one  of 
those  innocent  and  mastering  affections  such  as  are  to  be> 
seen  once  in  an  age,  on  this  earth  where  they  bloom,  like  the 
aloe-trees  on  Isola  Bella,  but  two  or  three  times  in  a  century  ? 
Any  one  seeing  Brigaut  fly  would  have  admired  the  artless 
heroism  of  a  most  artless  love. 

Jacques  Brigaut  w^as  worthy  of  Pierrette  Lorrain,  who 
was  now  nearly  fourteen — two  children !  Pierrette  could  not 
help  weeping  as  she  saw  him  take  to  his  heels  with  the  terror 
inspired  by  her  warning  gesture. 

She  then  sat  down  in  a  rickety  armchair,  in  front  of  a 
looking-glass  above  a  little  table.  On  this  she  set  her  elbows, 
and  remained  pensive  for  an  hour,  trying  to  recall  the  Marais, 
the  hamlet  of  Pen-Hoel,  the  adventurous  voyages  on  a  pond 
in  a  boat  untied  from  an  old  willow-tree  by  little  Jacques; 
then  the  old  faces — her  grandmother  and  grandfather,  her 
mother's  look  of  suffering,  and  General  Brigaut's  handsome 
head ;  a  whole  childhood  of  careless  joy  !  And  this  again  was 
a  dream — the  lights  of  happiness  against  a  gray  background. 

She  had  fine  light-brown  hair,  all  in  disorder,  under  a 
little  nightcap  tumbled  in  her  sleep,  a  little  cambric  cap  with 
frills  that  she  herself  had  made.  On  each  side  curls  fell  over 
her  temples,  escaping  from  their  gray  papers.  At  the  back  of 
her  head  a  thick  plait  hung  down  to  her  shoulders.  The  ex- 
cessive pallor  of  her  face  showed  that  she  was  a  victim  to  a 
girlish  ailment  to  which  medical  science  gives  the  pretty  name 
of  chlorosis,  which  robs  the  blood  of  its  natural  hue,  disturb- 
ing the  appetite,  and  betraying  much  disorderment  of  the 
whole  system.  This  waxen  hue  was  apparent  in  all  the  flesh- 
tints.  The  whiteness  of  her  neck  and  shoulders,  the  colorless- 


186 


PIERRETTE 


ness  of  an  etiolated  plant,  accounted  for  the  thinness  of  her 
arms  crossed  in  front  of  her.  Pierrette's  feet  even  loolced  weak 
and  shrunken  by  disease;  her  shift,  falling  only  on  her  calf, 
showed  the  relaxed  sinews,  blue  veins,  and  bloodless  muscles. 
As  the  cold  air  chilled  her,  her  lips  turned  purple.  The 
mournful  smile  that  parted  her  fairly  delicate  mouth  showed 
teeth  of  ivory  whiteness,  even  and  small,  pretty  transparent 
teeth,  in  harmony  with  well-shaped  ears  and  a  nose  that  was 
elegant,  if  a  little  sharp;  her  face,  though  perfectly  round, 
was  very  sweet.  All  the  life  of  this  charming  countenance 
lay  in  the  eyes ;  the  iris,  of  a  bright  snuff-brown  mottled  with 
black,  shone  with  golden  lights  round  a  deep  bright  retina. 
Pierrette  ought  to  have  been  gay ;  she  was  sad.  Her  vanished 
gaiety  lingered  in  the  vivid  modeling  of  her  eyes,  in  the  in- 
genuous form  of  her  brow,  and  the  moulding  of  her  short 
chin.  The  long  eyelashes  lay  like  brushes  on  the  cheeks  worn 
by  debility;  the  whiteness,  too  lavishly  diffused,  gave  great 
purity  to  the  lines  and  features  of  her  countenance.  The  ear 
was  a  little  masterpiece  of  modeling;  it  might  have  been  of 
marble. 

Pierrette  suffered  in  many  ways.  Perhaps  you  would  like 
to  have  her  story  ?  Here  it  is. 

Pierrette's  mother  was  a  Demoiselle  Auffray  of  Provins, 
half-sister  to  Madame  Rogron,  the  mother  of  the  present 
owners  of  this  house.  Monsieur  Auffray,  after  marrying  for 
the  first  time  at  the  age  of  eighteen,  took  a  second  wife  at  the 
age  of  sixty-nine.  The  child  of  his  first  marriage  was  an 
only  daughter,  ugly  enough,  who,  when  she  was  sixteen,  mar- 
ried an  innkeeper  of  Provins  named  Rogron.  By  his  sec- 
ond marriage  old  Auffray  had  another  daughter,  but  she 
was  very  pretty.  Thus  the  quaint  result  was  an  enormous 
difference  in  age  between  Monsieur  Auffray's  two  daughters. 
The  child  of  his  first  wife  was  fifty  when  the  second  was 
born.  By  the  time  her  father  gave  her  a  sister  Madame 
Rogron  had  two  children  of  her  own,  both  of  full  age. 

The  uxorious  old  man's  younger  child  was  married  for 
love,  at  eighteen,  to  a  Breton  officer  named  Lorrain,  a  cap- 


jPIERRETTH 


187 


tain  in  the  Imperial  Guard.  Love  often  beg'ets  ambition. 
The  captain,  eager  to  get  his  colonelcy,  exchanged  into  the 
line.  While  the  Major  and  his  wife,  comfortable  enough 
with  the  allowance  given  them  by  Monsieur  and  Madame 
Auffray,  were  living  handsomely  in  Paris,  or  running  about 
Germany  as  the  Emperor's  wars  or  truces  might  guide  them, 
old  Aulfray,  a  retired  grocer  at  Provins,  died  suddenly,  be- 
fore he  had  time  to  make  his  will.  The  good  man's 
estate  was  so  cleverly  manipulated  by  the  innkeeper  and  his 
wife  that  they  absorbed  the  larger  part  of  it,  leaving  to  old 
Auffray's  widow  no  more  than  the  house  in  the  little  Square 
and  a  few  acres  of  land.  This  widow,  little  Madame  Lor- 
rain's  mother,  was  but  eight-and-thirty  when  her  husband 
died.  Like  many  other  widows,  she  had  an  unwholesome  wish 
to  marry  again.  She  sold  to  her  stepdaughter,  old  Madame 
Eogron,  the  land  and  house  she  had  inherited  under  her  mar- 
riage settlement,  to  marry  a  young  doctor  named  ISTeraud, 
who  ran  through  her  fortune,  and  she  died  of  grief  in  great 
poverty  two  years  afterwards. 

Thus  Madame  Lorrain's  share  of  the  Auffray  property  had 
in  great  part  disappeared,  being  reduced  to  about  eight  thou- 
sand francs. 

Major  Lorrain  died  on  the  field  of  honor  at  Montereau, 
leaving  his  widow,  then  one-and-twenty,  burdened  with  a 
little  girl  fourteen  months  old,  and  with  no  fortune  but 
the  pension  she  could  claim  from  Government,  and  what- 
ever money  might  come  to  her  from  Monsieur  and  Madame 
Lorrain,  tradespeople  at  Pen-Hoel,  a  town  of  la  Yendee,  in 
the  district  known  as  le  Marais.  These  Lorrains,  the  parents 
of  the  deceased  officer,  and  Pierrette's  paternal  grandfather 
and  grandmother,  sold  building-timber,  slates,  tiles,  cornices, 
pipes,  and  the  like.  Their  business  was  a  poor  one,  either 
from  their  incapacity  or  from  ill-luck,  and  brought  them 
in  a  bare  living.  The  failure  of  the  great  house  of  Colinet 
at  Nantes,  brought  about  by  the  events  of  1814,  which  caused 
a  sudden  fall  in  the  price  of  colonial  produce,  resulted  in  a 
loss  to  them  of  eighty  thousand  francs  they  had  placed  on 


188 


PIERRETTE 


deposit.  Their  daughter-in-law  was  therefore  warmly  re- 
ceived; the  Major's  widow  brought  with  her  a  pension  of 
eight  hundred  francs,  an  enormous  sum  at  Pen-Hoel.  When 
her  half-sister  and  brother-in-law  Eogron  sent  her  the  eight 
thousand  francs  due  to  her,  after  endless  formalities,  pro- 
longed by  distance,  she  placed  the  money  in  the  Lorrains' 
hands,  taking  a  mortgage,  however,  on  a  little  house  they 
owned  at  Nantes,  let  for  a  hundred  crowns  a  year,  and  worthy 
perhaps,  ten  thousand  francs. 

Young  Madame  Lorrain  died  there  after  her  mother's  sec- 
ond and  luckless  marriage,  in  1819,  and  almost  at  the  same 
time  as  her  mother.  This  daughter  of  the  old  man  and  his 
young  wife  was  small,  fragile,  and  delicate;  the  damp  air 
of  the  Marais  did  not  agree  with  her.  Her  husband's  family, 
eager  to  keep  her  there,  persuaded  her  that  nowhere  else  in 
the  world  would  she  find  a  place  healthier  or  pleasanter  than 
the  Marais,  the  scene  of  Charette's  exploits.  She  was  so 
well  taken  care  of,  nursed,  and  coaxed,  that  her  death  brought 
honor  to  the  Lorrains. 

Some  persons  asserted  that  Brigaut,  an  old  Vendeen,  one 
of  those  men  of  iron  who  served  under  Charette,  Mercier,  the 
Marquis  de  Montauran,  and  the  Baron  du  Guenic  in  the  wars 
against  the  Eepublic,  counted  for  much  in  young  Madame 
Lorrain's  submission.  If  this  were  so,  it  was  certainly  for 
the  sake  of  a  most  loving  and  devoted  soul.  And,  indeed,  all 
Pen-Hoel  could  see  that  Brigaut,  respectfully  designated  as 
the  Major — having  held  that  rank  in  the  Eoyalist  army — 
spent  his  days  and  his  evenings  in  the  Lorrains'  sitting- 
room  by  the  side  of  the  Emperor's  Major's  widow.  Towards 
the  end  the  cure  of  Pen-Hoel  allowed  himself  to  speak  of  this 
matter  to  old  Madame  Lorrain;  he  begged  her  to  persuade 
her  daughter-in-law  to  marry  Brigaut,  promising  to  get  him 
an  appointment  as  justice  of  the  peace  to  the  district  of 
Pen-Hoel,  by  the  intervention  of  the  Vicoiate  de  Kergarouet. 
But  the  poor  woman's  death  made  the  scheme  useless. 

Pierrette  remained  with  her  grandparents,  who  owed  her 
four  hundred  francs  a  year,  naturally  spent  on  her  main- 


PIERRETTE 


189 


tenance.  The  old  people,  now  less  and  less  fit  for  business, 
had  an  active  and  pushing  rival  in  trade,  whom  they 
could  only  abuse,  without  doing  anything  to  protect  them- 
selves. The  Major,  their  friend  and  adviser,  died  six  months 
after  young  Madame  Lorrain,  perhaps  of  grief,  or  perhaps  of 
his  wounds;  he  had  had  seven-and-twenty.  Their  bad 
neighbor,  as  a  good  man  of  business,  now  aimed  at  ruining 
his  rivals,  so  as  to  extinguish  all  competition.  He  got  the 
Lorrains  to  borrow  on  their  note  of  hand,  foreseeing  that 
they  could  never  pay,  and  so  forced  them,  in  their  old  age, 
to  become  bankrupt.  Pierrette's  mortgage  was  second  to  a 
mortgage  held  by  her  grandmother,  who  clung  to  her  rights 
to  secure  a  morsel  of  bread  for  her  husband.  The  house  at 
Nantes  was  sold  for  nine  thousand  five  hundred  francs,  and 
the  costs  came  to  fifteen  hundred  francs.  The  remaining 
eight  thousand  francs  came  to  Madame  Lorrain,  who  invested 
them  in  a  mortgage  in  order  to  live  at  Nantes  in  a  sort  of 
almshouse,  like  that  of  Sainte-Perine  in  Paris,  called  Saint- 
Jacques,  where  the  two  old  people  found  food  and  lodging 
at  a  very  moderate  rate. 

As  it  v/as  impossible  that  they  should  take  with  them  their 
little  destitute  grandchild,  the  old  Lorrains  bethought  them 
of  her  uncle  and  aunt  Eogron,  to  whom  they  wrote.  The 
Rogrons  of  Provins  were  dead.  Thus  the  letter  from  the 
Lorrains  to  the  Eogrons  would  seem  to  be  lost.  But  if  there 
is  anything  here  below  which  can  take  the  place  of  Provi- 
dence, is  it  not  the  General  Post-Office?  The  genius  of  the 
Post,  immeasurably  supexior  to  that  of  the  Public,  outdoes 
in  inventiveness  the  imagination  of  the  most  brilliant  novel- 
ist. As  soon  as  the  Post  has  charge  of  a  letter,  worth,  on 
delivery,  from  three  to  ten  sous,  if  it  fails  at  once  to  find 
him  or  her  to  whom  it  should  be  delivered,  it  displays  a  mer- 
cenary solicitude  v/hich  has  no  parallel  but  in  the  boldest 
duns.  The  Post  comes,  goes,  hunts  through  the  eighty-six  de^- 
partments.  Difficulties  incite  the  genius  of  its  officials,  who, 
not  unfrequently,  are  men  of  letters,  and  v/ho  then  throw 
themselves  into  the  pursuit  with  the  ardor  of  the  mathe- 


190 


PIERRETTE 


maticians  at  the  National  Observatory;  they  rummage  the 
kingdom.  At  the  faintest  gleam  of  hope  the  Paris  offices  are 
on  the  alert  again.  Yon  often  sit  amazed  as  you  inspect 
the  scrawls  that  meandei  over  the  letter,  back  and  front — ■ 
the  glorious  evidence  of  the  administrative  perseverance  that 
animates  the  Post-Office.  If  a  man  were  to  undertake  what 
the  Post  has  accomplished,  he  would  have  spent  ten  thou- 
sand francs  in  traveling,  in  time  and  in  money,  to  recover 
twelve  sous.  The  Post  certainly  has  more  intelligence  than 
it  conveys. 

The  letter  written  by  the  Lorrains  to  Monsieur  Eogron, 
who  had  been  dead  a  year,  was  transmitted  by  the  Post  to 
Monsieur  Eogron,  his  son,  a  haberdasher  in  the  Rue  Saint- 
Denis,  Paris.  This  is  where  the  genius  of  the  Post-Office 
shines.  An  heir  is  always  more  or  less  puzzled  to  kno^' 
whether  he  has  really  scraped  up  the  whole  of  his  inheritance, 
whether  he  has  not  forgotten  some  debt  or  some  fragments, 
The  Revenue  guesses  everything;  it  even  reads  character.  A 
letter  addressed  to  old  Rogron  of  Provins  was  bound  to  pique 
the  curiosity  of  Rogron  junior'  of  Paris,  or  of  Mademoiselle 
Rogron,  his  heirs.   So  the  Revenue  earned  its  sixty  centimes. 

The  Rogrons,  towards  whom  the  Lorrains  held  out  beseech- 
ing hands  though  they  were  in  despair  at  having  to  part  from 
their  granddaughter,  thus  became  the  arbiters  of  Pierrette 
Lorrain's  fate.  It  is  indispensable,  therefore,  to  give  some 
account  of  their  antecedents  and  their  character. 

Old  Rogron,  the  innkeeper  at  Provins,  on  whom  old  Auffray 
had  bestowed  the  child  of  his  first  marriage,  was  hot-faced, 
with  a  purple-veined  nose,  and  cheeks  which  Bacchus  had  over- 
laid with  his  crimson  and  bulbous  blossoms.  Though  stout, 
short,  and  pot-bellied,  with  stumpy  legs  and  heavy  hands, 
he  had  all  the  shrewdness  of  the  Swiss  innkeepex,  resembling 
that  race.  His  face  remotely  suggested  a  vast  hail-stricken 
vineyard.  Certainly  he  was  not  handsome;  but  his  wife  was 
like  him.  Never  were  a  better  matched  couple.  Rogron  liked 
good  living  and  to  have  pretty  girls  to  wait  on  him.  He 
was  one  of  the  sect  of  Egoists  whose  ways  are  brutal,  and 


PIERRETTE 


191 


who  give  themselves  up  to  their  vices  and  do  their  will  in 
the  face  of  Israel.  Greedy,  mercenary,  and  by  no  means  re- 
fined, obliged  to  be  the  purveyor  to  his  own  fancies,  he  ate 
up  all  he  earned  till  his  teeth  failed  him.  Then  avarice  re- 
mained. In  his  old  age  he  sold  his  inn,  collected,  as  we 
have  seen,  all  his  father-in-law's  leavings,  and  retired  to  the 
little  house  in  the  Square,  which  he  bought  for  a  piece  of 
bread  of  old  Auffray's  widow,  Pierrette's  grandmother. 

Eogron  and  his  wife  owned  about  two  thousand  francs  a 
year,  derived  from  the  letting  of  twenty-seven  plots  of  land 
in  the  neighborhood  of  Provins,  and  the  interest  on  the  price 
of  their  inn,  which  they  had  sold  for  twenty  thousand  francs. 
Old  Auffray's  house,  though  in  a  very  bad  state,  was  used 
as  it  was  for  a  dwelling  by  the  innkeepers,  who  avoided  re- 
pairing it  as  they  would  have  shunned  the  plague;  old  rats 
love  cracks  and  ruins.  The  retired  publican,  taking  a  fancy 
for  gardening,  spent  his  savings  in  adding  to  his  garden; 
he  extended  it  to  the  bank  of  the  river,  making  a  long  square 
shut  in  by  two  walls,  and  ending  with  a  stone  embankment, 
below  which  the  water-plants,  left  to  run  wild,  displayed  their 
abundant  flowers. 

Early  in  their  married  life  the  Eogron  couple  had  a  son 
and  a  daughter,  with  two  years  between  them;  everything 
degenerates;  their  children  were  hideous.  Put  out  to  nurse 
in  the  country  as  cheaply  as  possible,  these  unhappy  little 
ones  came  home  with  the  wretched  training  of  village  life, 
having  cried  long  and  often  for  their  foster-mother,  who 
went  to  work  in  the  fields,  and  who  left  them  meanwhile  shut 
up  in  one  of  the  dark,  damp,  low  rooms  which  form  the  dwell- 
ing of  the  French  peasant.  By  this  process  the  children's 
features  grew  thick,  and  their  voices  harsh;  they  were  far 
from  flattering  their  mother's  vanity,  and  she  tried  to  cor= 
rect  them  of  their  bad.  habits  by  a  severity  which,  by  com- 
parison with  their  father's,  seemed  tenderness  itself.  They 
were  left  to  play  in  the  yards,  stables,  and  outhouses  of  the 
inn,  or  to  run  about  the  town ;  they  were  sometimes  whipped : 
sometimes  they  were  sent  to  their  grandfather  Auffray,  who 


192 


PIERRETTE 


loved  them  little.  This  injustice  was  one  of  the  reasons  that 
encouraged  the  Rogrons  to  secure  a  large  share  of  the  "old 
rascal's"  leavings.  Meanwhile,  however,  Rogron  sent  his 
boy  to  school;  and  he  paid  a  man,  one  of  his  carters,  to  save 
the  lad  from  the  conscription.  As  soon  as  his  daughter  Sylvie 
was  twelve  years  old,  he  sent  her  to  Paris  as  an  apprentice 
in  a  house  of  business.  Two  years  later,  his  son  Jerome- 
Denis  was  packed  olf  by  the  same  road.  When  his  friends 
the  carriers,  who  were  his  allies,  or  the  inn  customers  asked 
him  what  he  meant  to  do  with  his  children,  old  Rogjon  ex- 
plained his  plans  with  a  brevity  which  had  this  advantage 
over  the  statements  of  most  fathers,  that  it  was  frank : 

"When  they  are  of  an  age  to  understand  me,  I  shall  just 
give  them  a  kick  you  know  where,  saying,  'Be  off  and  ma.k)? 
your  fortune,' "  he  would  reply,  as  he  drank,  or  wiped  his 
mouth  with  the  back  of  his  hand.  Then  looking  at  the  in- 
quirer with  a  knowing  wink,  "Ha,  ha  V  he  would  add,  "they 
are  not  greater  fools  than  I  am.  My  father  gave  me  three  kicks, 
I  shall  give  them  but  one.  He  put  a  louis  into  my  hand,  I  will 
give  them  ten ;  so  they  will  be  better  off  than  I  was. — That's; 
the  right  way.  And  after  I  am  gone,  what  is  left  will  bei 
left;  the  notaries  will  find  them  fast  enough.  A  pretty  joke,,' 
indeed,  if  I  am  to  keep  myself  short  for  the  children's  sake ! 
They  owe  their  being  to  me;  I  have  brought  them  up;  I  ask 
nothing  of  them ;  they  have  not  paid  me  back,  heh,  neighbor  ? 
I  began  life  as  a  carter,  and  that  did  not  hinder  me  from 
marrying  that  old  rascal  Auffray's  daughter." 

Sylvie  was  placed  as  an  apprentice,  with  a  premium  of  a 
hundred  crowns  for  her  board,  with  some  tradespeople  in  the 
Rue  Saint-Denis,  natives  of  Proving.  Two  years  later  she 
was  paying  her  way ;  though  she  earned  no  money,  her  parents 
had  nothing  to  pay  for  her  food  and  lodging.  .  This,  in  the 
Rue  Saint-Denis,  is  called  being  "at  par."  Two  years  later 
Sylvie  was  earning  a  hundred  crowns  a  year.  In  the  course  of 
that  time  her  mother  had  sent  her  a  hundred  francs  for 
pocket-money.  Thus,  at  the  age  of  nineteen,  Mademoiselle 
Sylvie  Rogron  was  independent.   When  she  was  twenty,  she 


PIERRETTE 


193 


was  second  '^young  lady"  in  the  house  of  Julliard,  raw  si  Ik 
merchants,  at  the  sign  of  the  Ver  chinois  (or  Silkworm),  in 
the  Eue  Saint-Denis. 

The  history  of  the  brother  was  like  the  sister's.  Little 
Jerome-Denis  Kogron  was  placed  with  one  of  the  largest 
wholesale  mercers  in  the  Rue  Saint-Denis^  the  maison  Guepin 
at  the  Trois  Quenouilles.  While  Sylvie,  at  twenty-one,  was 
forewoman  with  a  thousand  francs  a  year,  J erome-Denis,  bet- 
ter served  by  luck,  was,  at  eighteen,  head  shop-clerk,  etirning 
twelve  hundred,  with  the  Guepins,  also  natives  of  Provins. 
The  brother  and  sister  met  every  Sunday  and  holiday,  and 
spent  the  day  in  cheap  amusements.  They  dined  outside 
Paris ;  they  went  to  Saint-Cloud,  Meudon,  Belleville,  or  Vin- 
cennes. 

At  the  end  of  1815  they  united  the  money  they  had  earned 
by  the  sweat  of  their  brow,  and  bought  of  Madame  Guenee 
the  business  and  good-will  of  a  famous  house,  the  8oeur 
de  famille,  one  of  the  best  known  retail  haberdashers.  The 
sister  kept  the  cash,  the  shop,  and  the  accounts;  the  brother 
was  both  buyer  and  head-clerk,  as  Sylvie  was  for  some  time 
hei'  own  forewoman.  In  1821,  after  five  years'  hard  work, 
(competition  had  become  so  lively  in  the  haberdashery  busi- 
ness that  the  brother  and  sister  had  scarcely  been  able  to  pay 
off  the  purchase  money  and  keep  up  the  reputation  of  Ihe 
house. 

Though  Sylvie  Rogron  was  at  this  time  but  forty,  her 
ugliness,  her  constant  toil,  and  a  peculiarly  crabbed  expres- 
sion, arising  as  much  from  the  shape  of  her  features  as  from 
her  anxieties,  made  her  look  like  a  woman  of  fifty.  Jerome- 
Denis  Rogron,  at  the  age  of  thirty-eight,  had  the  most  idiotic 
face  that  ever  bent  over  a  counter  to  a  customer.  His  low 
forehead,  crushed  by  fatigue,  was  seamed  by  three  arid  fur- 
rows. His  scanty  gray  hair,  cut  very  short,  suggested  the  un- 
utterable stupidity  of  a  cold-blooded  animal;  in  the  gaze  of 
his  blue-gray  eyes  there  was  neither  fire  nor  mind.  His 
roundj  flat  face  aroused  no  sympathy,  and  did  not  even  bring 


194 


PIEiRKETTE 


a  smile  to  the  lips  of  those  who  study  the  varieties  of  Parisian 
physiognomy;  it  was  depressing.  And  while,  like  his  father, 
he  was  short  and  thick,  his  shape,  not  having  the  coarse 
obesity  of  the  innkeeper,  showed  in  every  detail  an  absurd 
flabbiness.  His  father's  excessive  redness  gave  place  in  him 
to  the  flaccid  lividness  acquired  by  people  who  live  in  airless 
backshops,  in  the  barred  coops  that  serve  as  counting-houses, 
always  folding  and  unfolding  skeins  of  thread,  paying  or 
receiving  money,  harrying  clerks,  or  repeating  the  same 
phrases  to  customers.  The  small  intelligence  of  this  brother 
and  sister  had  been  completely  sunk  in  mastering  their  busi- 
ness, in  debit  and  credit,  and  in  the  study  of  the  rules  and 
customs  of  the  Paris  market.  Thread,  needles,  ribbon,  pins, 
buttons,  tailors'  trimmings,  in  short,  the  vast  list  of  articles 
constituting  Paris  haberdashery,  had  filled  up  their  memory. 
Letters  to  write  and  answer,  bills  and  stock-taking,  had  ab- 
sorbed all  their  capabilities. 

Outside  their  line  of  business  they  knew  absolutely  nothing ; 
they  did  not  even  know  Paris.  To  them  Paris  was  something 
spread  out  round  the  Rue  Saint-Denis.  Their  narrow 
nature  found  its  field  in  their  shop.  They  knew  very  well 
how  to  nag  their  assistants  and  shop-girls  and  find  them  at 
fault.  Their  joy  consisted  in  seeing  all  their  hands  as  busy 
on  the  counters  as  mice^s  paws,  handling  the  goods  or  folding 
up  the  pieces.  When  they  heard  seven  or  eight  young  voices 
of  lads  and  girls  simpering  out  the  time-honored  phrases 
with  which  shop-assistants  reply  to  a  customer's  remarks,  it 
was  a  fine  day,  nice  weather.  When  ethereal  blue  brought  life 
to  Paris,  and  Parisians  out  walking  thought  of  no  haberdash- 
ery but  what  they  wore,  "Bad  weather  for  business,"  the  silly 
master  would  observe.  The  great  secret,  which  made  Rogron 
the  object  of  his  apprentices'  admiration,  was  his  art  in  tying, 
untying,  re-tying,  and  making  up  a  parcel.  Rogron  could 
pack  a  parcel  and  look  out  at  what  was  going  on  in  the  street, 
or  keep  an  eye  on  his  shop  to  its  furthest  depths;  he  had 
seen  everything  by  the  time  he  handed  it  to  the  buyer,  say- 
ing, "Madame — nothing  more  this  morning?" 


PIERRETTE 


195 


But  for  his  sister,  this  simpleton  would  have  been  ruined. 
Sylvie  had  good  sense  and  the  spirit  of  trade.  She  advised 
her  brother  as  to  his  purchases  from  the  manufacturers,  and 
relentlessly  sent  him  off  to  the  other  end  of  France  to  make 
a  sou  of  profit  on  some  article.  The  shrewdness,  of  which 
every  woman  possesses  more  or  less,  having  no  duty  to  do  for 
her  heart,  she  had  utilized  it  in  speculation.  Stock  to  be 
paid  for !  this  thought  was  the  piston  that  worked  this  ma- 
chine and  gave  it  appalling  energy.  Rogron  was  never  more 
than  head-assistant;  he  did  not  understand  his  business  as 
a  whole;  personal  interest,  the  chief  motor  of  the  mind,  had 
not  carried  him  forward  one  step.  He  often  stood  dismayed 
when  his  sister  desired  him  to  sell  some  article  at  a  loss,  fore- 
seeing that  it  would  go  out  of  fashion;  and  afterwards  he 
guilelessly  admired  her.  He  did  not  reason  well  or  ill;  he 
was  incapable  of  reasoning;  but  he  had  sense  enough  to  submit 
to  his  sister,  and  he  did  so  for  a  reason  that  had  nothing  to 
do  with  business.  "She  is  the  eldest,"  he  would  say. 
Physiologists  and  moralists  may  possibly  find  in  such  a  per- 
sistently solitary  life,  reduced  to  satisfying  mere  needs,  and 
deprived  of  money  and  pleasure  in  youth,  an  explanation  of 
the  animal  expression  of  face,  the  weak  brain,  and  idiotic 
manner  of  this  haberdasher.  His  sister  had  always  hindered 
his  marrying,  fearing  perhaps  that  she  might  lose  her  in- 
fluence in  the  house,  and  seeing  a  source  of  expense  and  ruin 
in  a  wife  certainly  younger,  and  probably  less  hideous,  than 
herself. 

Stupidity  may  betray  itself  in  two  ways — it  is  talkative  or 
it  is  mute.  Mute  stupidity  may  be  endured;  but  Rogron's 
was  talkative.  The  tradesman  had  fallen  into  the  habit  of 
scolding  his  assistants,  of  expatiating  to  them  on  the  minutiae 
of  the  haberdashery  business  and  selling  to  "the  trade,"  or- 
namenting his  lectures  with  the  flat  jokes  that  constitute  the 
hagout,  the  gab  of  the  shops.  (This  word  hagouty  used  for- 
merly to  designate  the  stereotyped  repartee,  has  given  way  be- 
fore the  soldier's  siang  word  blague  or  humbug.)  Rogron,  to 
whom  his  little  domxcstic  audience  were  bound  to  listen,  Ro- 


196 


PIBRRETTB 


gron,  very  much  pleased  with  himself,  had  finally  adopted  a  set 
of  phrases  of  his  own.  The  chatterbox  believed  himself  elo- 
quent. The  need  for  explaining  to  customers  the  tiling  they 
want,  for  finding  out  their  wishes,  for  making  them  want  the 
thing  they  do  not  want,  loosens  the  tongue  of  the  counter- 
jumper.  The  retail  dealer  at  last  acquires  the  faculty  of  pour- 
ing out  sentences  in  which  words  have  no  meaning,  but  which 
answer  their  purpose.  Then  he  can  explain  to  his  customers 
methods  of  manufacture  unknown  to  them,  and  this  gives  him 
a  sort  of  short-lived  superiority  over  the  purchaser;  but  apart 
from  the  thousand  and  one  explanations  necessitated  by  the 
thousand  and  one  articles  he  sells,  he  is,  so  far  as  thought 
is  concerned,  like  a  fish  on  straw  in  the  sunshine. 

Kogron  and  Sylvie — a  pair  of  machines  illicitly  baptized — 
had  neither  potentially  nor  actively  the  feelings  which  give 
life  to  the  heart.  These  two  beings  were  utterly  dry  and 
tough,  hardened  by  toil,  by  privations,  by  the  remembrance 
of  their  sufferings  during  a  long  and  weariful  apprenticeship. 
,l?^"either  he  nor  she  had  pity  for  any  misfortune.  Tliey  were 
:iiot  implacable,  but  impenetrable  with  regard  to  anybody  in 
difficulties.  To  them  virtue,  honor,  loyalty,  eveiy  human 
reeling  was  epitomized  in  the  regular  payment  of  their  ac- 
counts. Close-fisted,  heartless,  and  sordidly  thrifty,  the 
'brother  and  sister  had  a  terrible  reputation  among  the  traders 
of  the  Eue  Saint-Denis. 

But  for  their  visits  to  Provins,  whither  they  went  thrice  a 
year,  at  times  when  they  could  shut  the  shop  for  two  or  three 
days,  they  would  never  have  got  shop-lads  and  girls.  But 
old  Kogron  packed  off  to  his  children  every  unhappy  creature 
intended  by  its  parents  to  go  into  trade;  he  carried  on  for 
them  a  business  in  apprentices  in  Provins,  where  he  vaunted 
with  much  vanity  his  children's  fortune.  The  parents, 
tempted  by  the  remote  hope  of  having  their  son  or  daughter 
well  taught  and  well  looked  after,  and  the  chance  of  seeing 
a  child  some  day  step  into  Eogron  junior's  business,  sent  the 
youth  who  was  in  the  way  to  the  house  kept  by  the  old 
bachelor  and  old  maid.   But  as  soon  as  the  apprentices,  man 


PIERRETTE 


197 


or  maid,  for  whom  the  fee  of  a  himdred  crowns  was  always 
paid,  saw  any  way  of  escaping  from  these  galleys,  they  fled 
with  a  glee  which  added  to  tlie  terrible  notoriety  of  the  Ro- 
grons.  The  indefatigable  innkeeper  always  supplied  them 
with  fresh  victims. 

From  the  age  of  fifteen  Sylvie  Rogron,  accustomed  to 
grimace  over  the  counter,  had  two  faces — the  amiable  mask 
of  the  saleswoman  and  the  natural  expression  of  a  shriveled 
old  maid.  Her  assumed  countenance  was  a  marvelous  piece 
of  mimicry;  she  smiled  all  over;  her  voice  turned  soft  and 
insinuating,  and  held  the  customers  under  a  commercial  spell. 
Her  real  face  was  what  she  had  shown  between  the  two  half- 
opened  shutters.  It  would  have  scared  the  bravest  of  the 
Cossacks  of  1815,  though  they  dearly  loved  every  variety  of 
rrenchwoman. 

When  the  letter  came  from  the  Lorrains,  the  Rogrons,  in 
mourning  for  their  father,  had  come  into  possession  of  the 
house  they  had  almost  stolen  from  Pierrette's  grandmother, 
of  the  innkeepei^'s  acquired  land,  and  finally  of  certain  sums 
derived  from  usurious  loans  in  mortgages  on  land  in  thfi 
hands  of  peasant  owners  whom  the  old  drunkard  hoped  to 
dispossess.  The  charge  on  the  business  was  paid  off.  The 
Rogrons  had  stock  to  the  value  of  about  sixty  thousand 
francs  in  the  shop,  about  forty  thousand  francs  in  their 
cash-box  or  in  assets,  and  the  value  of  their  good- 
will. Seated  on  the  bench,  covered  with  striped  green  worsted 
velvet,  and  fitted  into  a  square  recess  behind  the  cash-desk, 
with  just  such  another  desk  opposite  for  the  forewoman,  the 
brother  and  sister  held  council  as  to  their  plans.  Every 
tradesman  hopes  to  retire.  If  they  realized  their  whole  stock 
and  business,  they  ought  to  have  about  a  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  francs,  without  counting  their  inheritance  from  old 
Rogron.  Thus  by  investing  in  the  funds  the  capital  at  their 
disposal,  each  of  them  would  have  three  to  four  thousand 
francs  a  year,  even  if  they  devoted  the  price  of  the  business— 
which  would  no  doubt  be  paid  in  instalments — to  restoring 


198 


PIERRETTE 


their  paternal  home.  So  they  might  go  to  Provins  and  li^e 
there  in  a  house  of  their  own. 

Their  forewoman  was  the  daughter  of  a  rich  farmer  at 
Donnemarie,  who  was  burdened  with  nine  children;  thus  he 
was  obliged  to  place  them  all  in  business,  for  his  wealth,  di- 
vided among  nine,  would  be  little  enough  for  each.  But  in 
five  years  the  farmer  lost  seven  of  his  children,  consequently 
the  forewoman  had  become  an  interesting  person;  so  much 
so,  that  Kogron  had  attempted,  but  vainly,  to  make  her  his 
wife.  The  young  lady  manifested  an  aversion  for  the  master 
which  nullified  all  his  manoeuvres.  On  the  other  hand.  Made- 
moiselle Sylvie  did  not  encourage  the  plan ;  she  even  opposed 
her  brother's  marriage,  and  wanted  rather  to  have  so  clever 
a  woman  as  their  successor.  Eogron's  marriage  she  postponed 
till  they  should  be  settled  at  Provins. 

No  passer-by  can  understand  the  motive-power  that  under- 
lies the  cryptogamic  lives  of  certain  shopkeepers;  as  we  look 
at  them  we  wonder,  "On  what,  and  wh}^  do  they  live?  What 
becomes  of  them?  Where  did  they  come  from?"  We  lose 
ourselves  in  vacancy  as  we  try  to  account  for  them.  To  dis- 
cover the  little  poetry  that  germinates  in  these  brains  and  vivi- 
fies these  existences,  we  must  dig  into  them ;  but  we  soon  reach 
the  tufa  on  which  everything  rests.  The  Paris  shopkeeper 
feeds  on  hopes  more  or  less  likely  to  be  realized,  and  without 
which  he  would  evidently  perish:  one  dreams  of  building  or 
managing  a  theatre,  another  struggles  for  the  honors  of  the 
Mairie;  this  one  has  a  castle  in  the  air  three  leagues  from 
Paris,  a  so-called  park,  where  he  plants  colored  plaster 
statues  and  arranges  fountains  that  look  like  an  end  of 
thread,  and  spends  immense  sums;  that  one  longs  for  pro- 
motion to  the  higher  grades  of  the  National  Guard.  Provins, 
an  earthly  paradise,  excited  in  the  two  haberdashers  the 
fanaticism  which  the  inhabitants  of  every  pretty  town  in 
France  feel  for  their  home.  And  to  the  glory  of  Champagne, 
it  may  be  said  that  this  affection  is  amply  justified.  Provins, 
one  of  the  most  charming  spots  in  France,  rivals  Frangistan 
and  the  valley  of  Cashmere;  not  only  has  it  all  the  poetry 


PIERRETTE 


199 


!>f  Saadi,  the  Homer  of  Persia,  Liit  it  also  has  pharmaceutical 
treasures  for  medical  science.  The  crusaders  brought  roses 
from  Jericho  to  this  delightful  valle3%  where,  by  some  chance, 
the  flowers  developed  new  qualities  without  losing  anything 
of  their  color.  And  Provins  is  not  only  the  Persia  of  France; 
it  might  be  Baden,  Aix,  Bath;  it  has  mineral  waters. 

This  is  the  picture  seen  year  after  year,  which  now  and 
again  appeared  in  a  vision  to  the  haberdashers  on  the  muddy 
pavement  of  the  Rue  Saint-Denis. 

After  crossing  the  gray  flats  that  lie  between,  la.  Fert6- 
Gaucher  and  Provins — a  desert,  but  a  fertile  one,  a  desert  of 
wheat — you  mount  a  hill.  Suddenly,  at  your  feet,  you  see 
a  town  watered  by  two  rivers;  at  the  bottom  of  the  slope 
spreads  a  green  valley  broken  by  graceful  lines  and  retreat- 
ing distances.  If  you  come  from  Paris  you  take  Provins 
lengthways ;  you  see  the  everlasting  French  highroad  running 
along  the  foot  of  the  hill  and  close  under  it,  owning  its  blind 
man  and  its  beggars,  who  throw  in  an  accompanim^ent  of 
lamentable  voices  when  you  pause  to  gaze  at  this  unexpectedly 
picturesque  tract  of  land.  If  you  arrive  from  Troyes,  you 
come  in  from  the  plain.  The  castle  and  the  old  town,  with  its 
rampart,  climb  the  shelves  of  the  hill.  The  new  town  lies 
below. 

There  are  upper  and  lower  Provins;  above,  a  town  in  the 
air,  with  steep  streets  and  fine  points  of  view,  surrounded 
by  hollow  roads  like  ravines  between  rows  of  walnut-trees, 
furrowing  the  narrow  hilltop  with  deep  cuttings:  a  silent 
town  this,  clean  and  solemn,  overshadowed  by  the  imposing 
ruins  of  the  stronghold ;  then,  behind  a  town  of  mills,  watered 
by  the  A'oulzie  and  the  Durtain,  two  rivers  of  Brie,  narrow, 
sluggish,  and  deep;  a  town  of  inns  and  trade,  of  retired 
tradespeople,  traversed  by  diligences,  chaises  and  heavy  carts. 
These  two  towns — or  this  town — with  its  historical  associa- 
tions, with  the  melancholy  of  its  ruins,  the  gaiety  of  its 
valley,  its  delightful  ravines  full  of  unkempt  hedgerows  and 
wildflowers,  its  river  terraced  with  gardens,  has  so  sure  a 
hold  on  the  love  of  its  children  that  they  behave  like  the  sons 


200 


PIERRETTE 


of  Auvergne,  of  Savoy,  of  France.  Though  they  leave  Provins 
to  seek  their  fortune,  they  always  come  back  to  it.  The 
phrase,  "To  die  in  one's  burrow,"  made  for  rabbits  and  faith- 
ful souls,  might  be  taken  by  the  natives  of  Provins  as  their 
motto. 

And  so  the  two  Rogrons  thought  only  of  their  beloved 
Provins.  As  they  sold  thread,  the  brother  saw  the  old  town. 
While  packing  cards  covered  with  buttons,  he  was  gazing 
at  the  valley.  He  rolled  and  unrolled  tape,  but  he  was  fol- 
lowing the  gleaming  course  of  the  rivers.  As  he  looked  at 
his  pigeon-holes,  he  was  climbing  the  sunk  roads  whither  of 
old  he  fled  to  evade  his  father's  rage,  to  eat  walnuts,  and  to 
cram  on  blackberries.  The  little  Square  at  Provins  above  all 
filled  his  thoughts;  he  would  beautify  the  house;  he  dreamed 
of  the  front  he  would  rebuild,  the  bedrooms,  the  sitting-room, 
the  billiard-room,  the  dining-room;  then  of  the  kitchen  gar- 
den, which  he  would  turn  into  an  English  garden  with  a 
lawn,  grottoes,  fountains,  statues,  and  what  not? 

The  room.s  in  which  the  brother  and  sistor  slept  on  the 
second  floor  of  the  house,  three  windows  wide  and  six  stories 
high — there  are  many  such  in  the  Rue  Saint-Denis — had  no 
furniture  beyond  what  was  strictly  necessary;  but  not  a  soul 
in  Paris  had  finer  furniture  than  this  haberdasher.  As  he 
walked  in  the  streets  he  would  stand  in  the  attitude  of  an 
ecstatic,  looking  at  the  handsome  pieces  on  show  and  examin- 
ing hangings  with  which  he  filled  his  house.  On  coming 
home  he  would  say  to  his  sister,  "I  saw  a  thing  in  such  or  such 
a  shop  that  would  just  do  for  us !"  The  next  day  he  would 
buy  another,  and  invariably  he  gave  up  one  month  the  choice 
of  the  month  before.  The  revenue  would  not  have  paid  for 
his  architectural  projects;  he  wanted  everything,  and  always 
gave  the  preference  to  the  newest  thing.  When  he  studied 
the  balconies  of  a  newly-built  house,  and  the  doubtful  at- 
tempts at  exterior  decoration,  he  thought  the  mowldings. 
sculpture,  and  ornament  quite  out  of  place.  "Ah !"  he  would 
say  to  himself,  "those  fine  things  would  look  much  better  at 
Provins  than  they  do  there."    As  he  digested  his  breakfast 


PlEIUiETTIi] 


201 


on  his  doorstep,  leaning  his  back  against  the  shop  side,  with 
a  hazy  eye  the  haberdasher  saw  a  fantastic  dwelling,  golden 
in  the  sunshine  of  his  dream ;  he  walked  in  a  garden,  listening 
to  his  fountain  as  it  splashed  in  a  shower  of  diamonds  on  a 
round  flag  of  limestone.  He  played  billiards  on  his  own  table ; 
he  planted  flowers. 

When  his  sister  sat,  pen  in  hand,  lost  in  thought,  and  for- 
getting to  scold  the  shopmen,  she  was  seeing  herself  receiv- 
ing the  townsfolk  of  Provins,  gazing  at  herself  in  the  tall 
mirrors  of  her  drawing-room,  and  wearing  astounding  caps. 
Both  brother  and  sister  were  beginning  to  think  that  the 
atmosphere  of  the  Eue  Saint-Denis  was  unwholesome,  and 
the  smell  of  the  mud  in  the  market  made  them  long  for  the 
scent  of  the  roses  of  Provins.  They  suffered  alike  from  home- 
sickness and  monomania,  both  thwarted  by  the  necessity  for 
selling  their  last  remnants  of  thread,  reels  of  silk,  and  but- 
tons. The  promised  land  of  the  valley  of  Provins  attracted 
these  Israelites  all  the  more  strongly  because  they  had  for  a 
long  time  really  suffered,  and  had  crossed  with  gasping 
breath  the  sandy  deserts  of  haberdashery. 

The  letter  from  the  Lorrains  arrived  in  the  middle  of  a 
meditation  on  that  beautiful  future.  The  haberdashers 
scarcely  knew  their  cousin  Pierrette  Lorrain.  The  settlem.ent 
of  Auffray's  estate,  long  since,  by  the  old  innkeeper,  had  taken 
place  when  they  were  going  into  business,  and  Rogron  never 
said  much  about  his  money  matters.  Having  been  sent  to 
Paris  so  young,  the  brother  and  sister  could  hardly  remem- 
ber their  aunt  Lorrain.  It  took  them  an  hour  of  genealogical 
discussion  to  recall  their  aunt,  the  daughter  of  their  grand- 
father Auffray's  second  wife,  and  their  mother's  half-sister. 
They  then  remembered  that  Madame  Lorrain's  mother  was 
the  Madame  Neraud  who  had  died  of  grief.  They  concluded 
that  their  grandfather's  second  marriage  had  been  a  disas- 
trous thing  for  them,  the  result  being  the  division  of  Auffray's 
estate  between  two  families.  They  had,  indeed,  heard  sundry 
recriminations  from  their  father,  who  was  always  somewhat 
of  the  grudging  publican.    The  pair  studied  the  Lorrains' 


20:2 


PIEHRETTiJ 


letter  through  the  medium  of  these  reminiscences,  which  werft 
not  in  Pierrette's  favor.  To  take  charge  of  an  orphan,  a 
girl,  a  cousin,  who  in  any  case  would  be  their  heiress  in  the 
event  of  their  neither  of  them  marrying, — this  was  matter 
for  discussion.  The  question  was  regarded  from  every  point 
of  view.  In  the  first  place,  they  had  never  seen  Pierrette. 
Then  it  would  be  very  troublesome  to  have  a  young  girl  to 
look  after.  Would  they  not  be  binding  themselves  to  provide 
for  her?  It  would  be  impossible  to  send  her  away  if  they  did 
not  like  her.  Would  they  not  have  to  find  her  a  liusband? 
And  if,  after  all,  Eogron  could  find  "a  shoe  to  fit  him"  among 
the  heiresses  of  Provins,  would  it  not  be  better  to  keep  all 
they  had  for  his  children?  The  shoe  that  would  fit  her 
brother,  according  to  Sylvie,  was  a  rich  girl,  stupid  and  ugly, 
who  would  allow  her  sister-in-law  to  rule  her.  The  couple 
decided  that  they  would  refuse. 

Sylvie  undertook  to  reply.  Business  was  sufficiently  press- 
ing to  retard  this  letter,  which  she  did  not  deem  urgent,  and 
indeed  the  old  maid  thought  no  more  about  it  when  the 
forewoman  consented  to  buy  the  business  and  stock-in-trade 
of  the  Soeur  de  famille. 

Sylvie  Rogron  and  her  brother  had  gone  to  settle  in  Provins 
four  years  before  the  time  when  Brigaut's  appearance  brought 
so  much  interest  into  Pierrette's  life.  But  the  doings  of 
these  two  persons  in  the  country  require  a  description  no  less 
than  their  life  in  Paris;  for  Provins  was  fated  to  be  as  evil 
an  influence  for  Pierrette  as  her  cousins'  commercial  ante- 
cedents. 

When  a  small  tradesman  who  had  come  tO'  Paris  from 
the  provinces  returns  to  the  country  from  Paris,  he  inevitably 
brings  with  him  some  notions ;  presently  he  loses  them  in  the 
habits  of  the  place  where  he  settles  do™,  and  where  his 
fancies  for  innovations  gradually  sink.  Hence  come  those 
slow,  small,  successive  changes  which  are  gradually  scratched 
by  Paris  on  the  surface  of  country-town  life,  and  which  are 
the  essential  stamp  of  the  change  of  a  retired  shopkeeper  into 
a  confinned  provincial.   This  change  is  a  real  distemper.  No 


PIERRETTE 


203 


email  tradesman  can  pass  witlioiit  a  shock  from  perpetual  talk 
to  utter  silence,  from  the  activity  of  his  Paris  life  to  the 
stagnation  of  the  country.  When  the  good  folks  have  earned 
a  little  money,  they  spend  a  certain  amount  on  the  passion 
they  have  so  long  been  hatching,  and  work  off  the  last  spasms 
of  an  energy  which  cannot  be  stopped  short  at  will.  Those 
who  have  never  cherished  any  definite  plan,  travel,  or  throw 
themselves  into  the  political  interests  of  the  municipality. 
Some  go  out  shooting  or  fishing,  and  worry  their  farmers 
and  tenants.  Some  turn  usurers,  like  old  father  Eogron,  or 
speculate,  like  many  obscure  persons. 

The  dream  of  this  brother  and  sister  is  known  to  you; 
they  wanted  to  indulge  their  magnificent  fancy  for  handling 
the  trowel,  for  building  a  delightful  house.  This  fixed  idea 
had  graced  the  Square  of  lower  Provins  with  the  frontage 
which  Brigaut  had  just  been  examining,  the  interior  arrange- 
ments of  the  house,  and  its  luxurious  furniture.  The  builder 
drove  never  a  nail  in  without  consulting  the  Eogrons,  with- 
out making  them  sign  the  plans  and  estimates,  without  ex-- 
plaining  in  lengthy  detail  the  structure  of  the  object  under 
discussion,  where  it  was  made,  and  the  various  prices.  Ay 
to  anything  unusual,  it  had  always  been  introduced  by  Mon- 
sieur Tiphaine  or  Madame  Julliard  the  younger,  or  Monsieur" 
Garceland,  the  Maire.  Such  a  resemblance  with  some  wealthy 
citizen  of  Provins  always  carried  the  day  in  the  builder's; 
favor. 

"Oh,  if  Monsieur  Garceland  has  got  one  we  will  have  it !''' 
said  Mademoiselle  Sylvie.  "It  must  be  right;  he  had  good, 
taste.'' 

"Sylvie,  he  suggests  we  should  have  ovolos  in  the  cornice 
of  the  passage." 

"You  call  that  an  ovolo?" 
"Yes,  mademoiselle." 

"But  why  ?  What  a  queer  name !  I  never  heard  it  before." 

"But  you  have  seen  them?" 

"Yes." 

"Do  you  know  Latin  ?" 


204 


PIERRETTE 


"No." 

"Well,  it  means  egg-shaped ;  the  ovolo  is  egg-shaped." 

"You  are  a  queer  crew,  you  architects!"  cried  Rogron. 
"That,  no  doubt,  is  the  reason  you  charge  so  much ;  you  don't 
throw  away  your  egg-shells !" 

"Shall  we  paint  the  passage?"  asked  the  builder. 

"Certainly  not !"  cried  Sylvie.  "Another  five  hundred 
francs !" 

"But  the  drawing-room  and  the  stairs  are  so  nice,  it  is  aj' 
pity  not  to  decorate  the  passage,"  said  the  builder.  "Little 
Madame  Lesourd  had  hers  painted  last  year." 

"And  yet  her  husband,  being  crown  prosecutor,  cannot  stay 
at  Provins  " 

"Oh !  he  will  be  President  of  the  Courts  here  some  day," 
said  the  builder. 

"And  what  do  you  think  is  to  become  of  Monsieur  Tiphaine 
then?" 

"Monsieur  Tiphaine !   He  has  a  pretty  wife ;  I  am  not  un- 
easy about  him.    Monsieur  Tiphaine  will  go  to  Paris." 
"Shall  we  paint  the  corridor?" 

"Yes;  the  Lesourds  will,  at  any  rate,  see  that  we  are  as 
good  as  they  are,"  said  Rogron. 

The  first  year  of  their  residence  in  Provins  was  wholly 
given  up  to  these  discussions,  to  the  pleasure  of  seeing  the 
workmen  busy,  to  the  surprises  and  information  of  all  kinds 
that  they  got  by  it,  and  to  the  attempts  made  by  the  brother 
and  sister  to  scrape  acquaintance  with  the  most  important 
families  in  the  town. 

The  Rogrons  had  never  had  any  kind  of  society;  they  had 
never  gone  out  of  their  shop ;  they  knew  literally  no  one  in 
Paris,  and  they  thirsted  for  the  pleasure  of  visiting.  On  their 
return  they  found  first  Monsieur  and  Madame  Julliard,  of 
the  Ver  chinois,  with  their  children  and  grandchildren;  then 
the  Guepin  family,  or,  to  be  exact,  the  Guepin  elan;  the 
grandson  still  kept  the  shop  of  the  Trois  Quenouilles;  and 
finally,  Madame  Guenw,  who  had  sold  them  the  business  of 
the  Swur  de  famille;  her  three  daughters  were  married  in 


PIERRETTE 


205 


Provins.  These  three  great  tribes — the  Julliards,  the 
Guepins,  and  the  Giienees — spread  over  the  town  like  coueh- 
grass  on  a  lawn.  Monsieur  Garceland,  the  Maire,  was  Mon- 
sieur Guepin's  son-in-law.  The  Cure,  Monsieur  I'Abbe 
Peroux,  was  own  brother  to  Madame  Julliard,  who  was  a 
Peroux.  The  President  of  the  Court,  Monsieur  Tiphaine, 
was  brother  to  Madame  Guenee,  who  signed  herself  "nee 
Tiphaine." 

The  queen  of  the  town  was  Madame  Tiphaine  junior,  the 
handsome  only  daughter  of  Madame  Koguin,  who  was  the 
wealthy  wife  of  a  notary  of  Paris;  but  he  was  never  men- 
tioned. Delicate,  pretty,  and  clever,  married  to  a  provincial 
husband  by  the  express  management  of  her  mother,  who  would 
not  have  her  with  her,  and  had  taken  her  from  school  only 
a  few  days  before  her  marriage,  Melanie  felt  herself  an  exile 
at  Provins,  where  she  behaved  admirably  well.  She  was  al- 
ready rich,  and  had  great  expectations.  As  to  Monsieur 
Tiphaine,  his  old  father  had  advanced  his  eldest  daughter, 
Madame  Guenee,  so  much  money  on  account  of  her  share 
of  the  property,  that  an  estate  worth  eight  thousand  francs 
a  year,  at  about  five  leagues  from  Provins,  would  fall  to  the 
President.  Thus  the  Tiphaines,  ^vho  had  married  on  twenty 
thousand  francs  a  year,  exclusive  of  the  President's  salary 
and  residence,  expected  some  day  to  have  twenty  thousand 
francs  a  year  more.    They  were  not  out  of  luck,  people  said. 

Madame  Tiphaine's  great  and  only  object  in  life  was  to  se- 
cure her  husband's  election  as  deputy.  Once  in  Paris,  the 
deputy  would  be  made  judge,  and  from  the  Lower  Court  she 
promised  herself  he  should  soon  be  promoted  to  the  High 
Court  of  Justice.  Hence  she  humored  everybody's  vanity, 
and  strove  to  please;  more  difficult  still,  she  succeeded.  The 
young  woman  of  two-and-twenty  received  twice  a  week,  in 
her  handsome  house  in  the  old  town,  all  the  citizen  class 
of  Provins.  She  had  not  yet  taken  a  single  awkward  step 
on  the  slippery  ground  where  she  stood.  She  gratified  every 
conceit,  patted  every  hobby;  grave  with  serious  folks,  and  a 
girl  with  girls,  of  all  things  a  mother  with  the  mothers,  cheer- 


206 


PIERRETTE 


ful  with  the  young  wives,  eager  to  oblige,  polite  to  all;  in 
short,  a  pearl,  a  gem,  the  pride  of  Provins.  She  had  not  yet 
said  the  word,  but  all  the  electors  of  the  town  awaited  the 
day  when  their  dear  President  should  be  old  enough,  to  nomi- 
nate him  at  once.  Every  voter,  sure  of  his  talents,  made  him 
his  man  and  his  patron.  Oh  yes,  Monsieur  Tiphaine  would 
get  on;  he  would  be  Keeper  of  the  Seals,  and  he  would  pro- 
mote the  interests  of  Provins. 

These  were  the  means  by  which  Madame  Tiphaine  had 
been  so  fortunate  as  to  obtain  her  ascendency  over  the  little 
town  of  Provins.  Madame  Guenee,  Monsieur  Tiphaine's  sis- 
ter, after  seeing  her  three  daughters  married — the  eldest  to 
Monsieur  Lesourd  the  public  prosecutor,  the  second  to  Mon- 
sieur Martener  the  doctor,  and  the  third  to  Monsieur  Auffray 
the  notary — had  herself  married  again  Monsieur  Galardon, 
the  collector  of  taxes.  Mesdames  Lesourd,  Martener,  and 
Auffray,  and  their  mother  Madame  Galardon,  regarded  the 
President  as  the  wealthiest  and  cleverest  man  in  the  family. 
The  public  prosecutor.  Monsieur  Tiphaine's  nephew  by  mar- 
riage, had  the  greatest  interest  in  getting  his  uncle  to  Paris, 
so  as  to  be  made  President  himself.  Hence  these  four  ladies 
— for  Madame  Galardon  adored  her  brother — formed  a  little 
court  about  Madame  Tiphaine,  taking  her  opinion  and  advice 
on  every  subject. 

Then  Monsieur  Julliard's  eldest  son,  married  to  the  only 
daughter  of  a  rich  farmer,  was  taken  with  a  sudden  passion, 
a  grande  passion,  secret  and  disinterested,  for  the  President's 
wife — ^that  angel  dropped  from  the  sky  of  Paris.  Melanie, 
very  wily,  incapable  of  burdening  herself  with  a  Julliard,  but 
perfectly  capable  of  keeping  him  as  an  Amadis  and  making 
use  of  his  folly,  advised  him  to  start  a  newspaper  to  which  she 
was  the  Egeria.  So  for  two  years  now  Julliard,  animated  by 
his  romantic  passion,  had  managed  a  paper  and  run  a  dili- 
gence for  Provins.  The  newspaper,  entitled  La  Ruche,  The 
Beehive,  included  literary,  archaeological,  and  medical  papers 
concocted  in  the  family.  The  advertisements  of  the  district 
paid  the  expenses;  the  subscriptions — about  two  hundred — 


PIERRETTE 


207 


were  all  profit.  Melancholy  verses  sometimes  appeared  in  it, 
unintelligible  to  the  country  people,  and  addressed  "To 
Her ! !  1"  with  the  three  points  of  admiration.  Thus  the  young 
Julliard  couple,  singing  the  merits  of  Madame  Tiphaine,  had 
allied  the  clan  Julliard  to  that  of  the  Guenees.  Thencefor- 
ward the  President's  drawing-room,  of  course,  led  the  society 
of  the  town.  The  very  few  aristocrats  who  lived  at  Provins 
met  in  a  single  house  in  the  old  town,  that  of  the  old  Comtesse 
de  Breautey. 

During  the  first  six  months  after  their  transplanting,  the 
Eogrons,  by  favor  of  their  old-time  connection  with  the 
Julliards,  the  Guepins,  and  the  Guenees,  and  by  emphasizing 
their  relationship  to  Monsieur  Auifray  the  notary — a  great- 
grandnephew  of  their  grandfather's — were  received  at  first 
by  Madame  Julliard  the  elder  and  Madame  Galardon;  then, 
not  without  difficulty,  they  found  admission  to  the  beautiful 
Madame  Tiphaine's  drawing-room.  Everybody  wished  to 
know  something  about  the  Eogrons  before  inviting  them  to 
call.  It  was  a  little  difficult  to  avoid  receiving  tradespeople 
of  the  Eue  Saint-Denis,  natives  of  Provins,  who  had  come 
back  to  spend  their  money  there.  Nevertheless,  the  instinct 
of  society  is  always  to  bring  together  persons  of  similar  for- 
tune, education,  manners,  acquaintance,  and  character.  Now 
the  Guepins,  the  Guenees,  and  the  Julliards  were  of  a  higher 
grade,  and  of  older  family,  than  the  Eogrons^ — the  children 
of  a  money-lending  innkeeper  who  could  not  be  held  blame- 
less in  his  private  life,  nor  with  regard  to  the  Auffray  in- 
heritance. Auifray  the  notary,  Madame  Galardon's  son-in-law, 
knew  all  about  it ;  the  estate  had  been  wound  up  in  his  prede- 
cessor's office.  Those  older  merchants,  who  had  retired  twelve 
years  since,  had  found  themselves  on  the  level  of  education, 
breeding,  and  manners  of  the  circle  to  which  Madame 
Tiphaine  imparted  a  certain  stamp  of  elegance,  of  Paris  var- 
nish. Everything  was  homogeneous ;  they  all  understood  each 
other,  and  knew  how  to  conduct  themselves,  and  talk  so  as 
to  be  agreeable  to  the  rest.    They  knew  each  other's  char- 


208 


PIERRETTE 


acters,  and  were  acciist(5ined  to  agree.  Having  been  once  re- 
ceived by  Monsieur  Garceland  the  Maire,  the  Kogrons  flat- 
tered themselves  that  they  should  soon  be  on  intimate  terms 
with  the  best  society  of  the  town.  Sylvie  learned  to  play 
boston.  Rogron,  far  too  stupid  to  play  any  game,  twirled 
his  thumbs  and  swallowed  his  words  when  once  he  had  talked 
about  his  house.  But  the  words  acted  like  medicine;  they 
seemed  to  torture  him  cruelly ;  he  rose,  he  looked  as  if  he  were 
about  to  speak;  he  took  fright  and  sat  down  again,  his  lips 
comically  convulsed.  Sylvie  unconsciously  displayed  her  na- 
ture at  games.  Fractious  and  complaining  whenever  she  lost, 
insolently  triumphant  when  she  won,  contentious  and  fret- 
ful, she  irritated  her  adversaries  and  her  partners,  and  was 
a  nuisance  to  everybody. 

Eaten  up  with  silly  and  undisguised  envy,  Rogron  and  his 
sister  tried  to  play  a  part  in  a  town  where  a  dozen  families 
had  formed  a  net  of  close  meshes ;  all  their  interests,  all  their 
vanities  made,  as  it  were,  a  slippery  floor  on  which  newcomers 
had  to  tread  very  cautiously  to  avoid  running  up  against  some- 
thing or  getting  a  fall.  Allowing  that  the  rebuilding  of  their 
house  might  cost  thirty  thousand  francs,  the  brother  and 
sister  between  them  would  still  have  ten  thousand  francs  a 
year.  They  fancied  themselves  very  rich,  bored  their  ac- 
quaintances to  death  with  their  talk  of  future  splendor,  and 
80  gave  the  measure  of  their  meanness,  their  crass  ignorance, 
and  their  idiotic  jealousy.  The  evening  they  wexe  introduced 
to  Madame  Tiphaine  the  beauty — who  had  already  watched 
them  at  Madame  Garceland's,  at  her  sister-in-law's,  Madame 
Galardon's,  and  at  the  elder  Madam^e  Julliard's — the  queen 
of  Provins  said  in  a  confidential  tone  to  Julliard  junior,  who 
remained  alone  with  her  and  the  President  a  few  minutes 
after  every  one  was  gone: 

"You  all  seem  to  be  much  smitten  with  these  Rogrons  ?" 

"I said  the  Amadis  of  Provins ;  "they  bore  my  mother ; 
they  overpower  my  wife;  and  when  Mademoiselle  Sylvie  was 
sent,  thirty  years  ago,  as  an  apprentice  to  my  father,  even 
then  he  could  not  en^lure  her." 

'^But  I  have  a  very  great  mind,"  said  the  pretty  lady,  put- 


PIERRETTE 


200 


ting  a  little  foot  on  the  bar  of  the  fender,  "to  give  them  to 
understand  that  my  drawing-room  is  not  an  inn-parlor." 

Julliard  cast  up  his  eyes  to  the  ceiling  as  much  as  to  say : 

"Dear  Heaven,  what  wit,  what  subtlety!" 

"I  wish  my  company  to  be  select,  and  if  I  admit  the 
Rogrons  it  will  certainly  not  be  that." 

"They  have  no  heart,  no  brain,  no  manners,"  said  the  Presi- 
dent. "When  after  having  sold  thread  for  twenty  years,  aa 
my  sister  did,  for  instance  " 

"My  dear,  your  sister  would  not  be  out  of  place  in  any 
drawing-room,"  said  Madame  Tiphaine,  in  a  parenthesis. 

"If  people  are  so  stupid  as  to  remain  haberdashers  to  the 
end,"  the  President  went  on ;  "if  they  do  not  cast  their  skin ; 
if  they  think  that  *^Comtes  de  Champagne'  means  ^accounts 
for  wine,'  as  the  Rogrons  did  this  evening,  they  should  stay  at 
home." 

"They  are  noisome !"  said  J ulliard.  "You  might  think 
there  was  only  one  house  in  Provins.  They  want  to  crush 
us,  and,  after  all,  they  have  hardly  enough  to  live  on." 

"If  it  were  only  the  brother,"  said  Madame  Tiphaine,  "we 
might  put  up  with  him.  He  is  not  offensive.  Give  him  a 
Chinese  puzzle,  and  he  would  sit  quietly  in  a  corner.  It  would 
take  him  the  whole  winter  to  put  up  one  pattern.  But  Made- 
moiselle Sylvie !  What  a  voice — like  a  hyena  with  a  cold  1 
What  lobster's  claws !  Do  not  repeat  anything  of  this, 
Julliard." 

Wlien  Julliard  was  gone,  the  little  lady  said  to  her  hus- 
band : 

"My  dear,  there  are  enough  of  the  natives  that  I  am  obliged 
to  receive;  these  two  more  would  be  the  death  of  me;  and 
with  your  permission,  we  will  deprive  ourselves  of  the  pleas- 
ure." 

"You  are  the  mistress  in  your  own  house,"  said  the  Presi- 
dent, "but  we  shall  make  many  enemies.  The  Rogrons  will 
join  the  Opposition,  which  hitherto  has  had  no  solidity  in 
Provins.  That  Rogron  is  already  hanging  on  to  Baron  Gou- 
raud  and  Vinet  the  lawyer/* 


no 


PIERRETTE 


''Heh  !'*  said  Melanie,  with  a  smile,  "they  will  do  you  ser- 
vice then.  Where  there  are  no  enemies,  there  is  no  triumph. 
A  Liberal  conspiracy,  an  illegal  society,  a  fight  of  some  kind, 
would  bring  you  into  the  foreground." 

The  President  looked  at  his  young  wife  with  a  sort  of 
alarmed  admiration. 

Next  day  every  one  at  Madame  Grarceland's  said  in  every 
one  else's  ear  that  the  Rogrons  had  not  had  a  success  at  Mad- 
ame Tiphaine's,  and  her  remark  about  the  inn-parlor  was 
much  applauded.  Madame  Tiphaine  took  a  month  before  re- 
turning Mademoiselle  Sylvie's  visit.  This  rudeness  is  much 
remarked  on  in  the  country.  Then,  at  Madame  Tiphaine's, 
when  playing  boston  with  the  elder  Madame  Julliard,  Sylvie 
made  a  most  unpleasant  scene  about  a  splendid  misere  hand, 
on  which  her  erewhile  mistress  caused  her  to  lose — ma- 
liciously and  on  purpose,  she  declared.  Sylvie,  who  loved 
to  play  nasty  tricks  on  others,  could  never  accept  a  return 
in  kind.  Madame  Tiphaine,  therefore,  set  the  example  of 
making  up  the  card-parties  before  the  Rogrons  arrived,  so  that 
Sylvie  was  reduced  to  wandering  from  table  to  table,  watching 
others  play,  while  they  looked  at  her  askance  mth  meaning 
glances.  At  old  Madame  Julliard's,  whist  was  now  the  gam.e, 
and  Sylvie  could  not  play  it.  The  old  maid  at  last  under- 
stood that  she  was  an  outlaw,  but  without  understanding  the 
reason.  She  believed  herself  to  be  an  object  of  jealousy  to 
everybody. 

Ere  long  the  Rogrons  were  asked  nowhere;  but  they  per- 
sistently spent  their  evenings  at  various  houses.  Clever 
people  made  game  of  them,  without  venom,  quite  mildly,  lead- 
ing them  to  talk  utter  nonsense  about  the  ovolos  in  their 
house,  and  about  a  certain  cellaret  for  liqueurs,  matchless  in 
Provins.  Meanwhile  they  gave  themselves  the  final  blow. 
Of  course,  they  gave  a  few  sumptuous  dinners,  as  much  in 
return  for  the  civilities  they  had  received  as  to  show  off  their 
splendor.  The  guests  came  solely  out  of  curiosity.  The  first 
dinner  was  given  to  Monsieur  and  Madame  Tiphaine,  with 
whom  the  Rogrons  had  not  once  dined;  to  Messie'irs  and 


PIERRETTE 


211 


Mesdames  Julliard,  father  and  son,  mother  and  daughter-in- 
law;  to  Monsieur  Lesourd,  Monsieur  the  Cure,  Monsieur  and 
Madame  Galardon.  It  was  one  of  those  provincial  spreads, 
where  the  guests  sit  at  table  from  five  o'clock  till  nine.  Mad- 
ame Tiphaine  had  introduced  the  grand  Paris  style  to  Provins, 
the  well-bred  guests  going  away  as  soon  as  coffee  had  been 
served.  She  had  some  friends  that  evening  at  home,  and 
tried  to  steal  away,  but  the  Eogrons  escorted  the  couple  to  the' 
very  street;  and  when  they  returned,  bewildered  at  having 
failed  to  keep  the  President  and  his  wife,  the  other  guests  ex- 
plained Madame  Tiphaine's  good  taste,  and  imitated  it  with 
a  promptitude  that  was  cruel  in  a  country  town. 

"They  will  not  see  our  drawing-room  lighted  up !"  cried 
Sylvie,  "and  candle-light  is  like  rouge  to  it." 

The  Rogrons  had  hoped  to  give  their  guests  a  surprise.  No 
one  hitherto  had  been  admitted  to  see  this  much-talked-of 
house.  And  all  the  frequenters  of  Madame  Tiphaine's 
drawing-room  impatiently  awaited  her  verdict  as  to  the  mar- 
vels of  the  ''Palais  Rogron.'' 

"Well,"  said  little  Madame  Martener,  "you  have  seen  the 
Louvre  ?  Tell  us  all  about  it." 

"But  all — like  the  dinner — will  not  amount  to  much." 

"What  is  it  like?" 

"Well,  the  front  door,  of  which  we  were,  of  course,  re- 
quired to  admire  the  gilt-iron  window  frames  that  you  all 
know,  opens  into  a  long  passage  through  the  house,  dividing 
it  unequally,  since  there  is  but  one  window  to  the  street  on  the 
right,  and  two  on  the  left.  At  the  garden  end  this  passage 
has  a  glass  door  to  steps  leading  down  to  the  lawn,  a  lawn  with 
a  decorative  pedestal  supporting  a  plaster  cast  of  the  Sparta- 
cus,  painted  to  imitate  bronze.  Behind  the  kitchen  the  archi- 
tect has  contrived  a  little  pantry  under  the  staircase,  which 
we  were  not  spared  seeing.  The  stair,  painted  throughout 
like  yellow-veined  marble,  is  a  hollow  spiral,  just  like  the 
stairs  that  in  a  cafe  lead  from  the  ground  floor  to  the  entresol. 
This  trumpery  structure  of  walnut  wood,  really  dangerously 
light,  and  with  banisters  picked  out  with  brass,  was  displayed 


212 


to  us  as  one  of  the  seven  new  wonders  of  the  world.  The 
way  to  the  cellars  is  beneath. 

*^0n  the  other  side  of  the  passage,  looking  on  the  street, 
is  the  dining-room,  opening  by  folding  doors  into  the  drawing- 
room,  of  the  same  size,  but  looking  on  to  the  garden.'^ 

"So  there  is  no  hall     said  Madame  Auff ray. 

*'The  hall,  no  doubt,  is  the  long  passage  where  you  stand  in 
a  draught,''  replied  Madame  Tiphaine.  "We  have  had  the 
eminently  national,  liberal,  constitutional,  and  patriotic  no- 
tion," she  went  on,  "of  making  use  only  of  wood  grown  in 
France  !  In  the  dining-room,  the  floor,  laid  in  a  neat  pattern, 
is  of  walnut  wood.  The  sideboards,  table,  and  chairs  are  also 
in  walnut.  The  window  curtains  are  of  white  cotton  with 
red  borders,  looped  back  with  vulgar  ropes  over  enormous  pegs 
u^ith  elaborate  dull-gilt  rosettes,  the  mushroom-like  object 
standing  out  against  a  reddish  paper.  These  magnificent 
curtains  run  on  rods  ending  in  huge  scrolls,  and  are  held  up 
by  lions'  claws  in  stamped  brass,  one  at  the  top  of  each  pleat. 

"Over  one  of  the  sideboards  is  a  regular  cafe  clock,  draped, 
as  it  were,  with  a  sort  of  napkin  in  bronze  gilt,  an  idea  that 
quite  enchants  the  Rogrons.  They  tried  to  make  me  admire 
this  device ;  and  I  could  find  nothing  better  to  say  than  that  if 
it  could  ever  be  proper  to  hang  a  napkin  round  a  clock  face, 
it  was,  no  doubt,  in  a  dining-room.  On  this  sideboard  are 
two  large  lamps,  like  those  which  grace  the  counters  of  grand 
restaurants.  Over  the  other  is  a  highly  decorative  barometer, 
which  seems  to  play  an  important  part  in  their  existence ;  Ro- 
gron  gazes  at  it  as  he  might  gaze  at  his  bride-elect.  Between 
the  windows  the  builder  has  placed  a  white  earthenware  stove 
in  a  hideously  ornate  niche.  The  walls  blaze  with  a  splendid 
paper  in  red  and  gold,  such  as  you  will  see  in  these  same  res- 
taurants, and  Rogron  chose  it  there  no  doubt  on  the  spot. 

"Dinner  was  served  in  a  set  of  white-and-gold  china;  the 
dessert  service  is  bright  blue  with  green  sprigs;  but  they 
opened  the  china  closet  to  show  us  that  they  had 
another  service  of  stonev/are  for  everyday  use.  The  linen 
is   in   large   cupboards   facing   the   sideboards.  Every- 


PIERRETTE 


213 


thing  is  varnished,  shining,  new,  and  harsh  in  color. 
Still,  I  'Could  accept  the  dining-room;  it  has  a  character 
of  its  own  which,  though  not  pleasing,  is  fairly  representa- 
tive of  that  of  the  owners;  but  there  is  no  enduring 
the  five  engravings — those  black-and-white  things  against 
which  the  Minister  of  the  Interior  ought  really  to  get  a  decree ; 
they  represent  Poniatowski  leaping  into  the  Elster,  the  De- 
fence of  the  Barriere  de  Clichy,  Napoleon  himself  pointing 
a  gun,  and  two  prints  of  Mazeppa,  all  in  gilt  frames  of  a 
vulgar  pattern  suitable  to  the  prints,  which  are  enough  to 
make  one  loathe  popularity.  Oh !  how  much  I  prefer  Madame 
Julliard's  pastels  representing  fruits,  those  capital  pastels 
which  were  done  in  the  time  of  Louis  XV.,  and  which  har- 
monize with  the  nice  old  dining-room  and  its  dark,  rather 
worm-eaten  panels,  which  are  at  least  characteristic  of  the 
country,  and  suit  the  heavy  family  silver,  the  antique  china, 
and  all  our  habits.  The  country  is  provincial;  it  becomes 
ridiculous  when  it  tries  to  ape  Paris.  You  may  perhaps  re- 
tort, 'Vous  etes  orfevre,  Monsieur  JosseT — ^You  are  to  the 
manner  born.'  But  I  prefer  this  old  room  of  my  father-in-law 
Tiphaine's,  with  its  heavy  curtains  of  green-and-white  dam- 
ask, its  Louis  XV.  chimney-piece,  its  scroll  pattern  pier  glass, 
its  old  beaded  mirrors  and  time-honored  card-tables;  my  jars 
of  old  Sevres,  old  blue,  mounted  in  old  gilding;  my  clock 
with  its  impossible  flowers,  my  out-of-date  chandelier,  and  my 
tapestried  furniture,  to  all  the  splendor  of  their  drawing- 
room." 

"^What  is  it  like  said  Monsieur  Martener,  delighted  with 
the  praise  of  the  country  so  ingeniously  brought  in  by  the 
pretty  Parisenne. 

"The  drawing-room  is  a  fine  red — as  red  as  Mademoiselle 
Sylvie  when  she  is  angry  at  losing  a  misere/' 

"Sylvie~red,"  sa,id  the  President,  and  the  word  took  its 
place  in  the  vocabulary  of  the  district. 

"The  window-curtains — red  !  the  furniture — red  !  the  chim- 
ney-piece— red  marble  veined  with  yellow!  the  candelabra 
and  clock — red  marble  veined  with  yellow,  and  mounted  in 


214 


PIERRETTE 


a  heavy  vulgar  style;  Eoman  lamp-brackets  supported  on 
Greek  foliage !  From  the  top  of  the  clock  a  lion  stares  down 
on  you,  stupidly,  as  the  Kogrons  stare;  a  great  good-natured 
lion,  the  ornamental  lion  so  called,  which  will  long  continue 
to  dethrone  real  lions;  he  spends  his  life  clutching  a  black 
ball  exactly  like  a  deputy  of  the  loft.  Perhaps  it  is  a  Con- 
stitutional allegory.  The  dial  of  this  clock  is  an  extraordinary 
piece  of  work. 

''The  chimney  glass  is  framed  with  applique  ornaments, 
which  look  poor  and  cheap,  though  they  are  a  novelty.  But 
the  upholsterer's  genius  shines  most  in  a  panel  of  red  stuff 
of  which  the  radiating  folds  all  centre  in  a  rosette  in  the 
middle  of  the  chimney-board — a  romantic  poem  composed 
expressly  for  the  Eogrons,  who  display  it  with  ecstasy.  From 
the  ceiling  hangs  a  chandelier,  carefully  wrapped  in  a  green 
cotton  shroud,  and  with  reason ;  it  is  in  the  very  worst  taste, 
raw-toned  bronze,  with  even  more  detestable  tendrils  of  brown 
gold.  Under  it  a  round  tea-table  of  marble,  with  more  yellow 
than  ever  in  the  red,  displays  a  shining  metal  tray,  on  which 
glitter  cups  of  painted  china — such  painting! — arranged 
round  a  cut-glass  sugar-basin,  so  bold  in  style  that  our  grand- 
children will  open  their  eyes  in  amazement  at  the  gilt  rings 
j-ound  the  edge  and  the  diamond  pattern  on  the  sides,  like  a 
mediaeval  quilted  doublet,  and  at  the  tongs  for  taking  the 
sugar,  which  probably  no  one  will  ever  use. 

"This  room  is  papered  with  red  flock-paper  imitating  vel- 
vet, divided  into  panels  by  a  beading  of  gilt  brass,  finished  at 
the  corners  with  enormous  palms.  A  chromo-lithograph 
hangs  on  each  panel,  framed  most  elaborately  in  plaster  cast- 
ing of  garlands  to  imitate  fine  wood-carving.  The  furniture 
of  elm-root,  upholstered  with  satin-cloth,  classically  consists 
of  two  sofas,  two  large  easy-chairs,  six  armchairs,  and  six 
light  chairs.  The  console  is  graced  by  an  alabaster  vase,  called 
a  la  Medicis,  under  a  glass  shade,  and  by  the  much-talked-of 
liqueur-case.  We  were  told  often  enough  that  'there  is  not 
such  another  in  Provins.'  In  each  window  bay,  hung  with 
splendid  red  silk  curtains  and  lace  curtains  besides,  stands 


PIEIIRETTB 


215 


a  card-table.  The  carpet  is  Aiibiisson;  the  Kogrons  have  not 
failed  to  get  hold  of  the  crimson  ground  with  medallions  of 
flowers,  the  vnlgarest  of  all  the  common  patterns. 

"The  room  looks  uninhabited ;  there  are  no  books  or  prints 
— none  of  the  little  things  that  furnish  a  table,"  and  she 
looked  at  her  own  table  covered  with  fashionable  trifles, 
albums,  and  the  pretty  toys  that  were  given  her.  "There  are 
no  flowers,  none  of  the  little  nothings  that  fade  and  are  re- 
newed. It  is  all  as  cold  and  dry  as  Mademoiselle  Sylvie. 
Buffon  is  right  in  saying  that  the  style  is  the  man,  and  cer- 
tainly drawing-rooms  have  a  style !" 

Pretty  Madame  Tiphaine  went  on  with  her  description  by 
epigrams;  and  from  this  specimen,  it  is  easy  to  imagine  the 
rooms  in  which  the  brother  and  sister  really  lived  on  the 
first  floor,  which  they  also  displayed  to  their  guests.  Still., 
no  one  could  conceive  of  the  foolish  expenses  into  which  the 
cunning  builder  had  dragged  the  Rogrons;  the  mouldings, 
of  the  doors,  the  elaborate  inside  shutters,  the  plaster  orna- 
ments on  the  cornices,  the  fancy  painting,  the  brass-gill- 
knobs  and  bells,  the  ingenious  smoke-consuming  fireplaces, 
the  contrivances  for  the  prevention  of  damp,  the  sham  inlaid 
wood  on  the  staircase^  the  elaborate  glass  and  smith's  work — 
in  short,  all  the  fancy-work  which  adds  to  the  cost  of  building., 
and  delights  the  common  mind,  had  been  lavished  without 
stint. 

No  one  would  go  to  the  Rogrons'  evenings ;  their  pretensions 
were  still-bom.  There  were  abundant  reasons  for  refusing; 
every  day  was  taken  up  by  Madame  Garceland,  Madame  Galar- 
don,  the  two  Julliard  ladies,  Madame  Tiphaine,  the  Sous- 
prefet,  etc.  The  Rogrons  thought  that  giving  dinners  was 
all  that  was  needed  to  get  into  society;  they  secured  some 
young  people  who  laughed  at  them,  and  some  diners-out, 
such  as  are  to  be  found  in  every  part  of  the  world ;  but  serious 
people  quite  gave  them  up.  Sylvie,  alarmed  at  the  clear  loss 
of  forty  thousand  francs  swallowed  up  without  any  return  in 
the  house  she  called  her  dear  house,  wanted  to  recover  the 
sum  by  economy.    So  she  soon  ceased  to  give  dinners  that 


2t6 


PIERRETTE 


cost  from  thirty  to  forty  francs,  mthout  the  wine,  as  they 
failed  to  realize  her  hope  of  forming  a  circle — a  thing  as  dif- 
ficult to  create  in  the  country  as  it  is  in  Paris.  Sylvie  dis- 
missed her  cook,  and  hired  a  country  girl  for  the  coarser 
work.    She  herself  cooked  "to  amuse  herself." 

Thus,  fourteen  months  after  their  return  home,  the  brother 
and  sister  had  drifted  into  a  life  of  isolation  and  idleness. 
Her  banishment  from  "the  world"  had  roused  in  Sylvie^s 
soul  an  intense  hatred  of  the  Tiphaines,  Julliards,  Auffrays^ 
and  Garcelands — in  short,  of  everybody  in  Provins  society, 
which  she  stigmatized  as  a  clique,  with  which  she  was  on  the 
most  distant  terms.  She  would  gladly  have  set  up  a  rival 
circle ;  but  the  second-rate  citizen  class  was  composed  entirely 
of  small  tradespeople,  never  free  but  on  Sundays  and  holi- 
days; or  of  persons  in  ill-odor,  like  Vinet  the  lawyer  and 
Doctor  Neraud;  or  of  rank  Bonapaiiists,  like  General 
Gouraud;  and  Eogron  very  rashly  made  friends  with  these, 
though  the  upper  set  had  vainly  warned  him  against  them. 
The  brother  and  sister  were  obliged  to  sit  together  by  the 
lire  of  their  dining-room  stove,  talking  over  their  business, 
ihe  faces  of  their  customers,  and  other  equally  amusing 
matters. 

The  second  winter  did  not  come  to  an  end  without  their 
being  almost  crushed  by  its  weight  of  dulness.  They  had 
the  greatest  difficulty  in  spending  the  hours  of  their  day.  As 
they  went  to  bed  at  night,  they  thought,  "One  more  over!" 
They  spun  out  the  morning  by  getting  up  late  and  dressing 
slowly.  Eogron  shaved  himself  every  morning;  he  examined 
his  face  and  described  to  his  sister  the  changes  he  fancied  he 
noted  in  it ;  he  squabbled  with  the  maid  over  the  temperature 
of  the  hot  water;  he  wandered  into  the  garden  to  see  if  the 
flowers  were  sprouting;  he  ventured  down  to  the  river-bank, 
where  he  had  built  a  summer-house;  he  examined  the  wood- 
work of  the  house.  Had  it  warped?  Had  the  settling  split 
any  of  the  panels?  Was  the  paint  wearing  well?  Then  he 
came  in  to  discuss  his  anxieties  as  to  a  sick  hen,  or  some  spot 


PlEmiETTEJ 


217 


where  the  damp  had  left  stains,  talking  to  his  sister,  who 
affected  hurry  in  laying  the  table  while  she  scolded  the  maid. 
The  barometer  was  the  most  useful  article  in  the  house  to 
Eogron;  he  consulted  it  for  no  reason,  tapped  it  familiarly 
like  a  friend,  and  then  said,  "Vile  weather!"  to  which  his 
sister  would  reply,  "Pooh,  the  weather  is  quite  seasonable." 
If  anybody  called,  he  would  boast  of  the  excellence  of  this 
instrument.  > 
Their  breakfast  took  up  some  little  time.  How  slowly  did 
these  two  beings  masticate  each  mouthful.  And  their  diges- 
tion was  perfect;  they  had  no  cause  to  fear  cancer  of  the 
stomach.  By  reading  the  Ruche  and  the  Constitutionnel 
they  got  on  to  noon.  They  paid  a  third  of  the  subscription 
to  the  Paris  paper  with  Vinet  and  Colonel  Gouraud.  Kogron 
himself  carried  the  paper  to  the  Colonel,  who  lived  in  the 
Square,  lodging  with  Monsieur  Martener;  the  soldier's  long 
stories  were  an  immense  delight  to  him.  EogTon  could  only 
wonder  why  the  Colonel  was  considered  dangerous.  He  was 
such  an  idiot  as  to  speak  to  him  of  the  ostracism  under  which 
he  lived,  and  retail  the  sayings  of  the  "clique."  God  only 
knows  what  the  Colonel — who  feared  no  one,  and  was  a3 
redoubtable  with  the  pistol  as  with  the  sword — had  to  say 
of  "la  Tiphaine"  and  "her  Julliard,"  of  the  ministerial 
officials  of  the  upper  town — "men  brought  over  by  foreigners, 
capable  of  anything  to  stick  in  their  places,  cooking  the 
lists  of  votes  at  the  elections  to  suit  themselves,"  and  the 
like. 

At  about  two  o'clock  Eogron  sallied  forth  for  a  little  walL 
He  was  quite  happy  when  a  shopkeeper,  standing  at  his  door., 
stopped  him  with  a  "How  d'ye  do,  Pere  Eogron?"  He  gos- 
siped, and  asked,  "What  news  in  the  town?"  heard  and  re- 
peated scandal,  or  the  tittle-tattle  of  Provins.  He  walked 
\to  the  upper  town,  or  in  the  sunk  roads,  according  to  the 
weather.  Sometimes  he  met  other  old  men  airing  themselves 
in  like  manner.    Such  meetings  were  happy  events. 

There  were  at  Provins  certain  men  who  were  out  of  conceit 
with  the  life  of  Paris,  learned  and  modest  men,  living  with 


218 


PIERRETTE 


their  books.  Imagine  Eogron's  frame  of  mind  when  he  lis- 
tened to  a  supernumerary  judge  named  Desfondrilles,  more 
of  an  archaeologist  than  a  lawyer,  saying  to  a  man  of  educa- 
tion, old  Monsieur  Martener,  the  doctor's  father,  as  he  pointed 
to  the  valley : 

"Will  you  tell  me  why  the  idlers  of  all  Europe  flock  to 
Spa  rather  than  to  Provins,  when  the  waters  of  Provins  are 
acknowledged  to  be  superior  by  the  whole  French  faculty 
of  medicine,  and  to  have  effects  and  an  energy  worthy  of 
the  medical  properties  of  our  roses  ?" 

"What  do  you  expect?"  replied  the  man  of  the  world,  "it 
is  one  of  the  caprices  of  Caprice,  and  just  as  inexplicable. 
The  wines  of  Bordeaux  were  unknown  a  hundred  years  ago. 
Marechal  Eichelieu,  one  of  the  grandest  figures  of  the  last 
century,  the  Alcibiades  of  France,  was  made  governor  of 
Guyenne.  His  chest  was  delicate — the  world  knew  why — the 
wine  of  the  country  strengthened  and  restored  him  to  health. 
Bordeaux  at  once  made  a  hundred  millions  of  francs  a  year, 
and  the  Marshal  extended  the  Bordeaux  district  as  far  as 
Angouleme  and  as  far  as  Cahors,  in  short,  to  forty  leagues 
in  every  direction !  Who  knows  where  the  vineyards  of  Bor- 
deaux end  ? — And  there  is  no  equestrian  statue  of  the  Marshal 
at  Bordeaux  V 

"Ah !  if  such  an  event  should  take  place  at  Provins  in  this 
century  or  the  next,"  Monsieur  Desfondrilles  went  on,  "I 
hope  that  either  oei  the  little  Square  in  the  lower  town,  or  on 
the  castle,  or  somewhere  in  the  upper  town,  some  bas-relief 
will  be  seen  representing  the  head  of  Monsieur  Opoix,  the 
rediscoverer  of  the  mineral  waters  of  Provins !" 

"But,  my  dear  sir,  it  would  perhaps  be  impossible  to  re- 
Viabilitate  Provins,"  said  old  Monsieur  Martener.  "The  town 
is  bankrupt." 

At  this  Eogron  opened  his  eyes  wide,  and  exclaimed : 

"What !" 

"Provins  was  formerly  a  capital  which,  in  the  twelfth  cen- 
tury, held  its  own  as  a  rival  to  Paris,  when  the  Counts  of 
Champagne  held  their  court  here  as  King  Rene  held  his  in 


PIERRETTE 


219 


Provence,"  replied  the  man  of  learning.  '''In  those  days  civ- 
ilization, pleasure,  poetry,  elegance,  women — in  short,  all  the 
splendor  of  social  life  was  not  exclusively  restricted  to  Paris. 
Towns  find  it  as  hard  as  houses  of  business  to  rise  again  from 
rain.  Nothing  is  left  to  Provins  but  the  fragrance  of  its 
historic  past  and  that  of  its  roses — and  a  sous-prefecture." 

"Oh !  to  think  what  France  might  be  if  she  still  had  all  her 
feudal  capitals!"  said  Desfondrilles.  "Can  our  sous-prefets 
fill  the  place  of  the  poetic,  gallant,  and  warlike  race  of  Thi- 
bault,  who  made  Provins  what  Ferrara  was  in  Italy,  what 
Weimar  was  in  Germany,  and  what  Munich  would  like  to  be 
in  our  day?" 

"Provins  was  a  capital  ?"  asked  Rogron. 

"Why,  where  have  you  dropped  from?"  said  Desfondrilles 
the  archaeologist. 

The  lawyer  struck  the  pavement  of  the  upper  town  where 
they  were  standing  with  his  stick:  "Do  not  you  know,"  he 
cried,  "that  all  this  part  of  Provins  is  built  on  crypts  ?" 

"Crypts?" 

"Yes,  to  be  sure,  crypts  of  unaccountable  loftiness  and. 
extent.    They  are  like  cathedral  aisles,  full  of  pillars." 

"Monsieur  Desfondrilles  is  writing  a  great  antiquarian 
work  in  which  he  intends  to  describe  these  singular  struct- 
ures,"  said  old  Martener,  seeing  the  lawyer  mount  his  hobby. 

Rogron  came  home  enchanted  to  think  that  his  house  stood 
in  this  valley.  The  crypts  of  Provins  kept  him  occupied  for 
five  or  six  days  in  exploring  them,  and  for  several  evenings 
afforded  a  subject  of  conversation  to  the  old  couple.  Thus 
Rogron  generally  picked  up  something  about  old  Provins, 
about  the  intermarriages  of  the  families,  or  some  stale  polit- 
ical news  which  he  retailed  to  his  sister.  And  a  hundred 
times  over  in  the  course  of  his  walk — several  times  even  of 
the  same  person — he  would  ask,  "Well,  what  is  the  news? 
What  has  happened  lately  ?"  When  he  came  in  he  threw  him- 
self on  a  sofa  in  the  drawing-room  as  if  he  were  tired  out, 
but  really  he  was  only  weary  of  his  own  weight. 

He  got  on  to  dinner-time  by  going  twenty  times  to  and  fro 


220 


PIERRETTE 


between  the  drawing-room  and  the  kitchen,  looking  at  the 
clock,  opening  and  shutting  doors.  So  long  as  the  brother 
and  sister  spent  the  evenings  in  other  houses  they  got  through 
the  hours  till  bedtime,  but  after  they  were  reduced  to  staying 
at  home  the  evening  v/as  a  desert  to  traverse.  Sometimes 
people  on  their  way  hom.e,  after  spending  the  evening  out,  as 
they  crossed  the  little  Place,  heard  sounds  in  the  Rogrons* 
house  as  if  the  brother  were  murdering  the  sister ;  they  recog- 
nized them  as  the  terrific  yawns  of  a  haberdasher  driven  to 
bay.  The  two  machines  had  nothing  to  grind  with  their  rusty 
wheels,  so  they  creaked. 

The  brother  talked  of  marrying,  but  with  a  sense  of  de- 
spair. He  felt  himself  old  and  worn;  a  wife  terrified  him. 
(Sylvie,  who  understood  the  need  for  a  third  person  in  the 
Aouse,  then  remembered  their  poor  cousin,  for  whom  no  one  in 
Provins  had  ever  inquired,  for  everybody  supposed  that  little 
Madame  Lorrain  and  her  daughter  were  both  dead.  Sylvie 
Rogron  never  lost  anything;  she  was  too  thoroughly  an  old 
maid  to  mislay  anything,  whatever  it  might  be.  She  affected 
to  have  found  the  letter  from  the  Lorrains  so  as  to  make  it 
natural  that  she  should  mention  Pierrette  to  her  brother,  and 
he  was  almost  happy  at  the  possibility  of  having  a  little  girl 
about  the  house.  Sylvie  wrote  to  the  old  Lorrains  in  a 
half-business-like,  half-affectionate  tone,  attributing  the  delay 
in  her  answer  to  the  winding  up  of  their  affairs,  to  their 
move  back  to  Provins,  and  settling  there.  She  affected  to  be 
anxious  to  have  her  little  cousin  with  her,  allowing  it  to  be 
understood  that  if  Monsieur  "Rogron  should  not  marry,  Pier- 
rette would  some  day  inherit  twelve  thousand  francs  a  year. 
It  would  be  needful  to  have  been,  like  Nebuchadnezzar,  to 
some  extent  a  wild  beast,  shut  up  in  a  cage  in  a  beast-garden 
with  nothing  to  prey  on  but  butcher's  meat  brought  in  by  the 
keeper,  or  else  a  retired  tradesman  with  no  shop-clerks  to 
nag,  to  imagine  the  impatience  v/ith  which  the  brother  and 
sister  awaited  their  cousin  Lorrain.  Three  days  after  the 
despatch  of  the  letter  they  were  already  wondering  when  the 
child  w^ould  arrive. 


PIERRETTE 


221 


Sylvie  discerned  in  her  so-called  generosity  to  her  penniless 
cousin  a  means  of  changing  the  views  of  Provins  society  with 
regard  to  herself.  She  called  on  Madame  Tiphaine,  who  had 
stricken  them  with  her  disapproval,  and  who  aimed  at  creating 
an  upper  class  at  Provins,  like  tliat  at  Geneva,  and  blew  the 
trumpet  to  announce  the  advent  of  her  cousin  Pierrette,  the 
child  of  Colonel  Lorrain,  pitying  her  woes,  and  congratulating 
herself  as  a  lucky  woman  on  having  a  pretty  young  heiress 
to  introduce  in  society. 

''You  have  been  a  long  time  discovering  her,"  remarked 
Madame  Tiphaine,  who  sat  enthroned  on  a  sofa  by  her  fire- 
side. 

Madame  Garceland,  in  a  few  words  spoken  in  an  undertone 
during  a  deal,  revived  the  story  of  the  Auffray  property.  The 
notary  related  the  innkeeper's  iniquities. 

'''Where  is  the  poor  little  thing?''  asked  the  President  po- 
litely. 

"In  Brittany,"  said  Kogron. 

"But  Brittany  is  a  wide  word!"  remarked  Monsieur 
Lesourd,  the  public  prosecutor. 

"Her  grandfather  and  grandmother  wrote  to  us. — When 
was  it,  my  dear?"  asked  Rogron. 

Sylvie,  absorbed  in  asking  Madame  Garceland  where  she 
had  bought  the  stuff  for  her  dress,  did  not  foresee  the  effect 
of  her  answer,  and  said,  "Before  we  sold  our  business." 

"And  you  answered  three  days  ago,  Mademoiselle  Sylvie !" 
exclaimed  the  notary. 

Sylvie  turned  as  red  as  the  hottest  coals  in  the  fire. 

"We  wrote  to  the  Institution  of  Saint- Jacques,"  replied 
Rogron. 

"There  is  a  sort  of  asylum  there  for  old  people,"  said  a 
lawyer,  who  had  been  supernumerary  judge  at  Nantes.  "But 
she  cannot  be  there,  for  they  only  tal^e  in  persons  who  are 
past  sixty." 

"She  is  there  with  her  grandmother  Lorrain,"  said  Ro- 
gron. 

"She  had  a  little  money,  the  eight  thousand  francs  left  her 


222 


PIERRETTE 


by  your  father — no,  I  mean  your  grandfather/'  said  the 
notary,  blundering  intentionally. 

"Indeed!"  said  Eogron,  looking  stupid,  and  not  under- 
standing this  sarcasm. 

"Then  you  knew  nothing  of  your  first  cousin's  fortune  or 
position?"  asked  the  President. 

"If  Monsieur  Eogron  had  known  it,  he  would  not  have  left 
her  in  a  place  which  is  no  more  than  a  respectable  work- 
house," said  the  judge  severely.  "I  remember  now  that  a 
house  belonging  to  Monsieur  and  Madame  Lorrain  was  sold 
at  Nantes  under  an  execution ;  and  Mademoiselle  Lorrain  lost 
her  claims,  for  I  was  the  commissioner  in  charge." 

The  notary  spoke  of  Colonel  Lorrain,  who,  if  he  were 
alive,  would  indeed  be  astonished  to  think  of  his  child  being 
in  an  institution  like  that  of  Saint-Jacques.  The  Kogrons 
presently  withdrew,  thinking  the  world  very  spiteful.  Sylvie 
perceived  that  her  news  had  had  no  success;  she  had  ruined 
herself  in  everybody's  opinion ;  henceforth  she  had  no  hope  of 
making  her  way  in  the  higher  society  of  Provins. 

From  that  day  the  Eogrons  no  longer  dissembled  their 
hatred  of  the  great  citizen  families  of  Provins,  and  of  all  their 
adherents.  The  brother  now  repeated  all  the  Liberal  fables 
which  Lawyer  Vinet  and  Colonel  Gouraud  had  crammed  him 
with  about  the  Tiphaines,  the  Guenees,  the  Garcelands,  the 
Guepins,  and  the  Julliards. 

"I  tell  you  what,  Sylvie,  I  don't  see  why  Madame  Tiphaine 
should  turn  a  cold  shoulder  on  the  Eue  Saint-Denis :  the  best 
of  her  beauty  was  made  there.  Madame  Eoguin,  her  mother, 
is  a  cousin  of  the  Guillaumes  of  the  Cat  and  Racket,  who 
gave  over  their  business  to  their  son-in-law  Joseph  Lebas. 
Her  father  is  that  notary,  that  Eoguin,  who  failed  in  1819, 
and  ruined  the  Birotteaus.  So  Madame  Tiphaine's  money  is 
stolen  wealth ;  for  what  is  a  notary's  wife  who  takes  her  own 
settlement  out  of  the  fire  and  allows  her  husband  to  become 
a  fraudulent  bankrupt  A  pretty  thing  indeed  !  Ah !  I  under- 
stand !  She  got  her  daughter  married  to  live  here  at  Provins 
through  her  connections  with  the  banker  du  Tillet.  And  these 


PIERRETTE 


people  are  proud ! — Well !  However,  that  is  what  the  world 
is !" 

On  the  day  when  Denis  Rogron  and  his  sister  Sylvie  thus 
broke  out  in  abuse  of  the  clique,  they  had,  without  knowing 
it,  become  persons  of  importance,  and  were  on  the  highroad 
to  having  some  society;  their  drawing-room  was  on  the  point 
of  becoming  a  centre  of  interests  which  only  needed  a  stage. 
The  retired  haberdasher  assumed  historical  and  political  dig- 
nity, for,  still  without  knowing  it,  he  gave  strength  and  unity 
to  the  hitherto  unstable  elements  of  the  Liberal  party  at 
Provins.  And  this  was  the  way  of  it :  The  early  career  of  the 
Rogrons  had  been  anxiously  observed  by  Colonel  Gouraud 
and  the  advocate  Yinet,  who  had  been  thrown  together  by 
their  isolation  and  their  agreement  of  ideas.  These  two 
men  professed  equal  patriotism,  and  for  the  same  reasons 
— they  wanted  to  acquire  importance.  But  though  they  were 
anxious  to  be  leaders,  they  lacked  followers.  The  Liberals 
of  Provins  comprised  an  old  soldier  who  sold  lemonade;  an 
innkeeper ;  Monsieur  Coumant,  a  notary,  Monsieur  Auff ray's 
rival;  Monsieur  Neraud,  a  physician,  Doctor  Martener's 
rival ;  and  some  independent  persons,  farmers  scattered  about 
the  neighborhood,  and  holders  of  national  stock.  The  Colonel 
and  the  lawyer,  glad  to  attract  an  idiot  whose  money  might 
help  them  in  their  manoeuvres,  who  would  support  their  sub- 
scriptions, who,  in  some  cases,  would  take  the  bull  by  the 
horns,  and  whose  house  would  be  useful  as  a  town-hall 
for  the  party,  took  advantage  of  the  Rogrons'  hostility  towards 
the  aristocrats  of  the  place.  The  Colonel,  the  lawyer,  and 
Rogron  had  a  slight  bond  in  their  joint  subscription  to  the 
Constitutionnel;  it  would  not  be  difficult  for  the  Colonel  to 
make  a  Liberal  of  the  ex-haberdasher,  though  Rogron  knew 
so  little  of  political  history  that  he  had  not  heard  of  the 
exploits  of  Sergeant  Mercier ;  he  thought  he  was  a  friend  and 
brother. 

The  impending  arrival  of  Pierrette  hastened  the  hatching 
of  certain  covetous  dreams  to  which  the  ignorance  and  folly 
of  the  old  bachelor  and  old  maid  had  given  rise.   The  Colonel, 


224 


PIERRETTE 


seeing  that  Sylvie  had  lost  all  chance  of  getting  her  foot  into 
the  circle  of  the  Tiphaines,  had  an  idea.  Old  soldiers  have 
seen  so  many  horrors  in  so  many  lands,  so  many  naked  corpses 
grimacing  hideously  on  so  many  battle-fields,  that  an  ugly 
face  has  no  terrors  for  them,  so  the  Colonel  took  steady  aim 
at  the  old  maid's  fortune.  This  officer,  a  short,  fat  man,  wore 
rings  in  his  ears,  which  were  already  graced  by  bushy  tufts 
of  hair.  His  floating  gray  whiskers  were  such  as  in  1799 
had  been  called  "fins.''  His  large,  good-natured,  red  face  was 
somewhat  frost-bitten,  as  were  those  of  all  who  escaped  at  the 
Beresina.  His  huge,  prominent  stomach  had  the  flattened 
angle  below  characteristic  of  an  old  cavalry  officer;  Gouraud 
had  commanded  the  second  regiment  of  Hussars.  His  gray 
moustache  covered  a  huge  mouth — a  perfect  trap — the  only 
word  to  describe  that  abyss ;  he  did  not  eat,  he  devoured  !  A 
sWord-cut  had  shortened  his  nose.  His  speech  was  in  conse- 
quence thick  and  deeply  nasal,  like  that  ascribed  to  Capuchin 
friars.  His  hands,  which  were  small,  short,  and  broad,  were 
such  as  make  a  woman  say,  "You  have  the  hands  of  a  thorough 
scamp."  His  legs,  below  such  a  huge  bod}^,  looked  frail. 
Within  this  active  but  clumsy  body  lay  a  cunning  spirit, 
entire  experience  of  life  and  things,  hidden  under  the  ap- 
parent carelessness  ■  of  a  soldier,  and,  utter  contempt  for  the 
conventionalities  of  society.  Colonel  Gouraud  had  the  pen- 
sion of  the  Cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honor,  and  two  thousand 
four  hundred  francs  a  year  as  half -pay — a  thousand  crowns 
a  year  in  all  for  his  whole  income. 

The  lawyer,  tall  and  lean,  had  no  talent  but  his  political 
opinions,  and  no  income  but  the  meagre  profits  of  his  busi- 
ncss.  At  Provins  solicitors  plead  their  own  cases.  In  view 
of  his  opinions,  the  Court  listened  with  small  favor  to  Maitre 
Vinet;  and  the  most  Liberal  farmers,  when  entangled  in 
lawsuits,  would  rely  on  an  attorney  in  favor  with  the  Bench 
rather  than  employ  Vinet.  This  man  was  said  to  have  led 
astray  a  rich  girl  living  near  Coulommiers,  and  to  have 
compelled  her  parents  to  let  hor  marry  him.  His  wife  was 
one  of  the  Chargeboeufs,  an  old  family  of  nobles  in  la  Brie, 


PIERRETTE 


225 


who  took  their  name  from  the  exploit  of  a  squire  in  Saint 
Ijouis'  expedition  to  Egypt.  She  had  incurred  her  parents' 
displeasure,  and  they,  to  Yinet's  knowledge,  had  arranged 
to  leave  their  whole  fortune  to  their  eldest  son,  charged,  no 
doubt,  with  a  reversion  in  favor  of  his  sister's  children.  Thus 
this  man's  first  ambitious  scheme  came  to  nothing.  The 
lawyer,  soon  haunted  by  poverty,  and  ashamed  of  not  having 
enough  to  enable  his  wife  to  keep  up  appearances,  had 
made  vain  efforts  to  get  his  foot  into  a  ministerial  career; 
but  the  rich  branch  of  the  Chargeboeufs  refused  to  assist  him. 
These  Eoyalists  were  strictly  moral,  and  disapproved  of  a 
compulsory  marriage ;  besides,  their  would-be  relation's  name 
was  Vinet;  how  could  they  favor  any  one  so  common?  So 
the  lawyer  was  handed  on  from  one  branch  to  another  when 
he  tried  to  utilize  his  wife's  interest  with  her  relations.  Mad- 
ame Vinet  found  no  assistance  but  from  one  of  the  family, 
a  widowed  Madame  Chargeboeuf,  with  a  daughter,  quite  poor., 
who  lived  at  Troyes.  And  a  day  came  when  Vinet  remem^ 
bered  the  kind  reception  his  wife  met  with  from  this  lady. 

Eejected  by  the  whole  world,  full  of  hatred  of  his  wife's 
family,  of  the  Government  which  refused  him  an  appoint- 
ment, and  of  the  society  of  Provins,  which  would  have  nothing 
to  say  to  him,  Vinet  accepted  his  poverty.  His  venom  fer- 
mented and  gave  him  energy  to  endure.  He  became  a 
liberal  on  perceiving  that  his  fortune  was  bound  up  with 
the  triumph  of  the  Opposition,  and  vegetated  in  a  wretched 
little  house  in  the  upper  town,  which  his  wife  seldom  quitted. 
This  girl,  bom  to  a  better  fate,  lived  absolutely  alone  in  her 
home  with  her  one  child.  There  are  cases  of  poverty  nobly 
met  and  cheerfully  endured ;  but  Vinet,  eaten  up  by  ambition, 
and  feeling  that  he  had  wronged  a  young  creature,  cherished 
a  dark  indignation;  his  conscience  expanded  to  admit  every 
means  to  success.  His  face,  still  young,  changed  for  the 
worse.  People  were  sometimes  terrified  in  Court  at  the  sight 
of  his  fiat  viperine  head,  with  its  wide  mouth,  and  eyes  that 
glittered  through  his  spectacles ;  at  hearing  his  sharp,  shrill, 
rasping  voice,  that  wrung  their  nerves.    His  muddy  com- 


226 


PIERRETTE 


plexion,  patchy  with  sickly  hues  of  yellow  and  green,  revealed 
his  suppressed  ambitions,  his  perpetual  mortifications  and 
hidden  penury.  He  could  argue  and  harangue;  he  had  no 
lack  of  point  and  imagery;  he  was  learned  and  crafty.  Ac- 
customed to  indulge  his  imagination  for  the  sake  of  rising 
by  hook  or  by  crook,  he  might  have  made  a  politician.  A 
man  who  hesitates  at  nothing  so  long  as  it  is  legal  is  a  strong 
man,  and  in  this  lay  Yinet's  strength. 

This  coming  athlete  of  parliamentary  debate — one  of  the 
men  who  were  to  proclaim  the  supremacy  of  the  House  of 
Orleans — had  a  disastrous  influence  over  Pierrette's  fate. 
At  present  he  wanted  to  provide  himself  with  a  weapon  by 
founding  a  newspaper  at  Provins.  After  having  studied  the 
Rogrons  from  afar,  with  the  assistance  of  the  Colonel,  he 
'3nded  by  reckoning  on  the  brother.  And  this  time  he  reck- 
oned witvh  his  host;  his  poverty  was  to  come  to  an  end  after 
seven  dolorous  years,  during  which  more  than  one  day  had 
come  round  without  bread.  On  the  day  when  Gouraud  an- 
nounced to  Vinet,  on  the  little  Square,  that  the  Eogrons  had 
broken  with  the  citizen  aristocracy  and  official  circles  of  the 
old  town,  the  lawyer  nudged  him  significantly  in  the  ribs. 

"This  wife  or  that,  ugly  or  handsome,  it  must  be  all  the 
yame  to  you,"  said  he.  "You  should  marry  Mademoiselle 
Rogron,  and  then  we  could  get  something  done  here  " 

"I  was  thinking  of  it.  But  they  have  sent  for  the  daughter 
of  poor  Colonel  Lorrain — their  heiress,"  said  Gouraud. 

"You  could  make  them  leave  you  their  money  by  will.  You 
would  have  a  very  nicely  fitted  house." 

"And  the  child,  after  all!  Well,  we  shall  see,"  said  the 
Colonel,  with  a  jocose  and  deeply  villainous  leer,  which 
showed  a  man  of  Vinet's  temper  how  small  a  thing  a  little 
girl  was  in  the  eyes  of  this  old  soldier. 

Since  her  grandparents  had  gone  into  the  asylum  where 
they  were  forlornly  ending  their  days,  Pierrette,  young  and 
full  of  pride,  was  so  dreadfully  miserable  at  living  there  on 
charity,  that  she  was  happy  to  learn  that  she  had  some  rich 


Pierrette  and  he  .  .  .  had  sketched  their  childish  drean?s  on  the 
veil  of  the  future 


PIERRETTE 


227 


connections.  On  hearing  that  she  was  leaving,  Brigant,  the 
Major's  son,  the  companion  of  her  childhood,  who  was  now 
a  joiner's  apprentice  at  Nantes,  came  to  give  her  the  money 
needful  for  her  journey  by  coach — sixty  francs,  all  the  savings 
of  his  odd  earnings  painfully  hoarded;  Pierrette  accepted  it 
with  the  sublime  indifference  of  true  friendship,  showing  that 
she,  in  similar  circumstances,  would  have  been  hurt  by  thanks. 
Brigaut  had  gone  every  Sunday  to  Saint- Jacques  to  play  with 
Pierrette,  and  to  comfort  her.  The  sturdy  young  workman 
had  already  gone  through  his  delightful  apprenticeship  to 
the  perfect  and  devoted  care  that  we  give  to  the  object  of 
our  involuntary  choice  and  affection.  More  than  once  ere 
now,  Pierrette  and  he,  on  a  Sunday,  sitting  in  a  corner  of 
the  garden,  had  sketched  their  childish  dreams  on  the  veil 
of  the  future;  the  young  craftsman,  mounted  on  his  plane, 
traveled  round  the  world,  making  a  fortune  for  Pierrette, 
who  waited  for  him. 

So,  in  the  month  of  October  1824,  when  Pierrette  had 
almost  completed  her  eleventh  year,  she  was  placed  in  the 
care  of  the  guard  of  the  diligence  from  Nantes  to  Paris  by 
the  two  old  people  and  the  young  apprentice,  all  three  dread- 
fully sad.  The  guard  was  requested  to  put  her  into  the  coach 
for  Provins,  and  to  take  great  care  of  her.  Poor  Brigaut ! 
he  ran  after  the  diligence  like  a  dog,  looking  at  his  dear 
Pierrette  as  long  as  he  could.  In  spite  of  the  child's  signals, 
he  ran  on  for  a  league  beyond  the  to\^ni,  and  when  he  was 
exhausted,  his  eyes  sent  a  last  tearful  glance  at  Pierrette,  who 
cried  when  she  could  see  him  no  more.  Pierrette  put  her 
head  out  of  the  window,  and  discerned  her  friend  standing 
squarely,  and  watching  the  heavy  vehicle  that  left  him  be- 
hind. 

The  Lorrains  and  Brigaut  had  so  little  knowledge  of  life 
that  the  little  Bretonne  had  not  a  sou  left  when  she  arrived 
in  Paris.  The  guard,  to  whom  the  child  prattled  of  rich 
relations,  paid  her  expenses  at  an  inn  in  Paris,  made  the 
guard  of  the  Troyes  coach  repay  him,  and  desired  him  to 
deliver  Pierrette  to  her  family  and  collect  the  debt,  exactly 
as  if  she  wore  a  parcel  bv  carrier. 
I6 


228 


Four  days  after  leaving  Nantes,  at  about  nine  o'clock  one 
Monday  evening,  a  kind,  burly  old  guard  of  the  Messageries 
Eoyales  took  Pierrette  by  the"  hand,  and,  while  the  coach  was 
unloading  in  the  High  Street  such  passengers  and  parcels 
as  were  to  be  deposited  at  Provins,  he  led  her,  with  no  luggage 
but  two  frocks,  two  pairs  of  stockings,  and  two  shifts,  to  the 
house  pointed  out  to  him  by  the  office  clerk  as  that  of  Made- 
moiselle Eogron. 

"Good-morning,  mademoiselle,  and  gents  all,"  said  the 
guard.  "I  have  brought  you  a  cousin  of  yours,  and  here  she 
be,  and  a  pretty  dear  too.  You  have  forty-seven  francs  to 
pay.  Though  your  little  girl  has  no  weight  of  baggage, 
please  to  sign  my  way-book." 

Mademoiselle  Sylvie  and  her  brother  gave  way  to  their  de- 
light and  astonishment. 

"Begging  your  pardon,"  said  the  guard,  "my  coach  is 
waiting — sign  my  sheet  and  give  me  forty-seven  francs  and 
sixty  centimes,  and  what  you  please  for  me  and  the  guard 
from  Nantes,  for  we  have  taken  as  much  care  of  her  as  if  she 
were  our  own.  We  have  paid  out  for  her  bed  and  food,  her 
place  in  the  coach  here,  and  other  little  things." 

"Forty-seven  francs  and  twelve  sous  ?"  exclaimed  Sylvie. 

"You're  never  going  to  beat  me  down  ?"  cried  the  guard. 

"But  where  is  the  invoice  ?"  said  Eogron. 

"The  invoice! — Here  is  my  way-bill." 

"You  can  talk  afterwards,  pay  now!"  said  Sylvie  to  her 
brother;  "you  see,  you  cannot  help  paying." 

Eogron  went  to  fetch  forty-seven  francs  twelve  sous. 

"And  nothing  for  us — for  my  pal  and  me?"  said  the- 
guard. 

Sylvie  produced  a  two-franc  piece  from  the  depths  of  her 
old  velvet  bag,  where  her  keys  lurked  in  bunches. 

"Thank  you — keep  it,"  said  the  man.  "We  would  rather 
have  looked  after  the  little  girl  for  her  own  sake."  He  took 
up  his  sheet  and  went  out,  saying  to  the  servant  girl:  "A 
nice  place  this  is !  There  are  crocodiles  of  that  sort  without 
going  to  Egypt  for  'em.'^ 


PIERRETTE 


229 


"Those  people  are  horribly  coarse  V  said  Sylvie,  who  had 
heard  his  speech. 

"Dame!  they  took  care  of  the  child,"  replied  Adele,  with 
her  hands  on  her  hips. 

"We  are  not  obliged  to  live  with  him/'  said  Rogron. 

"Where  is  she  to  sleep?"  asked  the  maid. 

Such  was  the  reception  that  met  Pierrette  Lorrain  on  her 
arrival  at  her  cousins'  house,  while  they  looked  at  her  with 
a  bewildered  air.  She  was  flung  on  their  hands  like  a  parcel, 
with  no  transition  between  the  wretched  room  in  which  she 
had  lived  with  her  grandparents  and  her  cousins'  dining- 
room,  which  struck  her  as  palatial.  She  stood  there  mute 
and  shy.  To  any  one  but  these  retired  haberdashers,  the 
little  Bretonne  would  have  been  adorable  in  her  frock  of 
^joarse  blue  serge,  a  pink  cotton  apron,  her  blue  stockings, 
thick  shoes,  and  white  kerchief;  her  little  red  hands  were 
covered  by  knitted  mittens  of  red  wool  edged  with  white 
that  the  guard  had  bought  for  her.  Her  little  Brittany  cap. 
which  had  been  washed  in  Paris — it  had  got  tumbled  in  the 
course  of  the  journey  from  Nantes — really  looked  like  a  glory 
round  her  bright  face.  This  native  cap,  made  of  fine  cambric, 
with  a  stiff  lace  border  ironed  into  flat  pleats,  deserves  a 
description,  it  is  so  smart  and  so  simple.  The  light,  filtered 
through  the  muslin  and  lace,  casts  a  half  shadow,  a  twilight 
softness,  on  the  face;  it  gives  it  the  virginal  grace  which 
painters  try  to  find  on  their  palettes,  and  which  Leopold 
Robert  has  succeeded  in  lending  to  the  Raphael-like  face  of 
the  woman  holding  a  child  in  his  picture  of  the  Reapers. 
Within  this  setting  of  broken  lights  shone  an  artless  rose  and 
white  face,  beaming  with  vigorous  health.  The  heat  of  the 
room  brought  the  blood  to  her  head,  and  it  suffused  the  edge 
of  her  tiny  ears  with  fire,  tingeing  her  lips  and  the  tip  of  a 
finely  cut  nose,  while  by  contrast  it  made  her  bright  com- 
plexion look  brighter  than  before. 

"Well,  have  you  nothing  to  say  to  us?"  said  Sylvie.  "J 
am  your  cousin  Sylvie,  and  that  is  your  cousin  Denis." 

"Are  you  hungry  ?"  asked  Rogron. 


230 


PIERRETTE 


'^When  did  you  leave  Nantes?"  asked  Sylvie. 
"She  is  dumb/'  said  Rogron. 

"Poor  child,  she  has  very  few  clothes  to  her  back!"  ob- 
served sturdy  Adele,  as  she  untied  the  bundle  wrapped  in  a 
handkerchief  belonging  to  old  Lorrain. 

"Kiss  your  cousin/'  said  Sylvie.    Pierrette  kissed  Rogron. 

"Yes,  kiss  your  cousin/'  said  Rogron.  Pierrette  kissed 
Sylvie. 

"She  is  scared  by  the  journey,  poor  little  thing;  perhaps 
she  is  sleepy,"  said  Adele. 

Pierrette  felt  a  sudden  and  invincible  aversion  for  her  two 
relations,  a  feeling  she  had  never  before  known.  Sylvie  and 
the  maid  went  to  put  the  little  girl  to  bed  in  the  room  on 
the  second  floor  where  Brigaut  was  to  see  the  cotton  curtain. 
There  were  in  this  attic  a  small  bed  with  a  pole  painted  blue, 
from  which  hung  a  cotton  curtain,  a  chest  of  drawers  of 
walnut  wood,  with  no  marble  top,  a  smaller  table  of  the  same 
wood,  a  looking-glass,  a  common  bed-table,  and  three  wretched 
chairs.  The  walls  and  sloping  roof  to  the  front  were  covered 
with  a  cheap  blue  paper  flowered  with  black.  The  floor  was 
painted  and  waxed,  and  struck  cold  to  the  feet.  There  wan 
no  carpet  but  a  thin  bedside  rug  made  of  selvages.  The 
chimney-shelf,  of  cheap  marble,  was  graced  with  a  mirror., 
two  candlesticks  of  copper  gilt,  and  a  vulgar  alabaster  vase 
with  two  pigeons  drinking  to  serve  as  handles;  this  Sylvie 
had  had  in  fier  room  in  Paris. 

"Shall  you  be  comfortable  here,  child  ?"  asked  Sylvie. 

"Oh !  it  is  beautiful !"  replied  the  little  girl  in  her  silvery 
treble. 

"She  is  not  hard  to  please,"  muttered  the  sturdy  peasant 
woman  to  herself.  "I  had  better  warm  the  bed,  I  suppose  ?" 
she  asked. 

"Yes,"  said  Sylvie,  "the  sheets  may  be  damp." 

Adele  brought  a  head  kerchief  of  her  ovm  when  she  came 
up  with  the  warming-pan;  and  Pierrette,  who  had  hitherto 
slept  in  sheets  of  coarse  Brittany  linen,  was  amazed  at  the 
fine,  soft  cotton  sheets.   When  the  little  girl  was  settled  and 


PIERRETTE 


231 


in  bed,  Adele,  as  she  went  downstairs,  could  not  help  exclaim- 
ing, "All  her  things  put  together  are  not  worth  three  francs, 
mademoiselle !" 

Since  adopting  her  system  of  strict  economy,  Sylvie  always 
made  the  servant  sit  in  the  dining-room,  so  as  to  have  but 
one  lamp  and  one  fire.  When  Colonel  Gouraud  and  Vinet 
came,  Adele  withdrew  to  her  kitchen.  Pierrette's  arrival 
kept  them  talking  for  the  rest  of  the  evening. 

^^Ve  must  get  her  some  clothes  to-morrow,"  said  Sylvie. 
"She  has  hardly  a  stitch." 

"She  has  no  shoes  but  those  thick  ones  she  had  on,  and 
they  weigh  a  pound,"  said  Adele. 

"They  wear  them  so  in  those  parts,"  said  Eogron. 

"How  she  looked  at  the  room,  which  is  none  so  fine  neither, 
for  a  cousin  of  yours,  mademoiselle  !" 

"So  much  the  better;  hold  your  tongue.  You  see  she  is 
delighted  with  it." 

"Lord  above  us !  what  shifts !  They  must  rub  her  skin 
raw.  But  none  of  these  things  are  of  any  use,"  said  Adele, 
turning  out  the  contents  of  Pierrette's  bundle. 

Till  ten  o'clock  master,  mistress,  and  maid  were  busy  de- 
ciding of  what  stuff  and  at  wfiat  price  the  shifts  should  be 
made,  how  many  pairs  of  stockings  and  of  what  quality,  and 
how  many  under-petticoats  would  be  needed,  and  calculating 
the  cost  of  Pierrette's  wardrobe. 

"You  will  not  get  off  for  less  than  three  hundred  francs," 
said  Rogron  to  his  sister,  as  he  carried  the  price  of  each  article 
in  his  head  from  long  practice,  and  added  up  the  total  from 
memory. 

"Three  hundred  francs !"  exclaimed  Sylvie. 

"Yes,  three  hundred ;  work  it  out  yourself." 

The  brother  and  sister  began  again,  and  made  it  three  hun- 
dred francs  without  the  sewing. 

"Three  hundred  francs  at  one  cast  of  the  net !"  cried  Sylvie, ' 
who  went  to  bed  on  the  idea  so  ingeniously  expressed  by  this 
proverbial  figure  of  speech. 

Pierrette  was  one  of  those  children  of  love  whom  love  has 


232 


PIERRETTE 


blessed  with  tenderness,  cheerfulness,  brightness,  generosity, 
and  devotedness;  nothing  had  as  yet  chilled  or  crushed  her 
heart;  it  was  almost  wildly  sensitive,  and  the  way  she  was 
received  by  her  relations  weighed  on  it  painfully.  Though 
Brittany  had  to  her  been  a  home  of  poverty,  it  had  also  been 
a  home  of  affection.  Though  the  old  Lorrains  were  the  most 
unskilful  traders,  they  were  the  simplest,,  most  loving,  most 
caressing  souls  in  the  world,  as  all  disinterested  people  are. 
At  Pen-Hoel  their  little  grand-daughter  had  had  no  teaching 
but  that  of  nature.  Pierrette  went  as  she  would  in  a  boat 
on  the  pools,  she  ran  about  the  village  or  the  fields  with  her 
companion  Jacques  Brigaut,  exactly  like  Paul  and  Virginia. 
Both  the  children,  spoiled  and  petted  by  every  one,  and  as 
free  as  the  air,  ran  after  the  thousand  joys  of  childhood;  in 
summer  they  went  to  watch  the  fishermen,  they  caught  in- 
sects, plucked  flowers,  and  gardened;  in  winter  they  made 
slides,  built  smart  snow-palaces  and  snow-men,  or  made  snow- 
balls to  pelt  each  other.  They  were  everywhere  welcome; 
everybody  smiled  on  them. 

When  it  was  time  that  they  should  learn  something,  mis- 
fortunes came.  Jacques,  left  destitute  by  his  father's  death, 
was  apprenticed  by  his  relations  to  a  cabinet-maker,  and 
maintained  by  charity,  as  Pierrette  was  soon  after  in  the  asy- 
lum of  Saint- Jacques.  But  even  in  this  almshouse,  pretty 
little  Pierrette  had  been  made  much  of,  loved,  and  kindly 
treated  by  all.  The  child,  thus  accustomed  to  so  much  affec- 
tion, no  longer  found,  in  the  home  of  these  longed-for  and 
wealthy  relations,  the  look,  the  tone,  the  words,  the  manner 
which  she  had  hitherto  met  with  in  every  one,  even  in  the 
guards  of  the  diligences.  Thus  her  amazement,  already  great, 
was  complicated  by  the  changed  moral  atmosphere  into  which 
she  had  been  plunged.  The  heart  can  turn  suddenly  cold  and 
hot  as  the  body  can.  The  poor  child  longed  to  cry  without 
knowing  what  for.    She  was  tired,  and  she  fell  asleep. 

Accustomed  to  rise  very  early,  like  all  country-bred  chil- 
dren, Pierrette  awoke  next  morning  two  hours  before  the 
cook.   She  dressed,  trotted  about  her  room  over  her  cousin's 


PIERRETTE! 


233 


head,  looked  out  on  the  little  Square,  and  was  going  down- 
stairs; she  was  astonished  at  the  splendor  of  the  staircase; 
she  examined  every  detail — the  rosettes,  the  brass-work,  the 
mouldings,  the  painting,  etc.  Then  she  went  down;  she 
could  not  open  the  garden  door,  so  she  came  up  again ;  went 
down  once  more  when  Adele  was  about,  and  sprang  into  the 
garden.  She  took  possession  of  it,  ran  to  the  river,  was 
amazed  by  the  smnmer-house,  went  into  the  summer-house; 
she  had  enough  to  see  and  wonder  at  in  all  she  saw  till  her 
cousin  Sylvie  was  up.  During  breakfast  Sylvie  said  to  her : 

"So  it  was  you,  little  bird,  who  were  trotting  up  and  down- 
stairs at  daybreak,  and  making  such  a  noise  ?  You  woke  me 
so  completely  that  I  could  not  get  to  sleep  again.  You  must 
be  very  quiet,  very  good,  and  learn  to  play  without  making  a 
sound.   Your  cousin  does  not  like  noise.'' 

"And  you  must  take  care  about  your  feet,"  said  Eogron. 
''^You  went  into  the  summer-house  with  muddy  shoes,  and  left 
your  footsteps  printed  on  the  floor.  Your  cousin  likes  every- 
thing to  be  clean.  A  great  girl  like  you  ought  to  be  cleanly. 
Were  you  not  tanght  to  be  clean  in  Brittany?  To  be  sure, 
when  I  went  there  to  buy  flax  it  was  dreadful  to  see  what 
savages  they  were ! — She  has  a  fine  appetite  at  any  rate," 
isaid  Rogron,  turning  to  liis  sister ;  "you  might  think  she  had 
not  seen  food  these  three  days." 

And  so>  from  the  very  first,  Pierrette  felt  hurt  by  her 
cousins'  remarks,  hurt  without  knowing  why.  Her  frank  and 
upright  nature,  hitherto  left  to  itself,  had  never  been  used  to 
reflect;  incapable,  therefore,  of  understanding  wherein  her 
cousins  were  wrong,  she  was  doomed  to  tardy  enlightenment 
through  suffering. 

After  breakfast,  the  couple,  delighted  by  Pierrette^s  aston- 
ishment, and  eager  to  enjoy  it,  showed  her  their  fine  drawing- 
room,  to  teach  her  to  respect  its  splendor.  Unmarried  people, 
as  a  result  of  their  isolation,  and  prompted  by  the  craving 
for  something  to  interest  them,  are  led  to  supply  the  place 
of  natural  affections  by  artificial  affections — the  love  of  dogs, 
cats,  or  canary  birds,  of  their  servant  or  their  spiritual  di- 


PIERRETTE 


rector.  Thus  Rogron  and  Sylvie  had  an  immoderate  affection 
for  the  house  and  furnittire  that  had  cost  them  so  much. 
Sylvie  had  taken  to  helping  Adele  every  morning,  being  of 
opinion  that  the  vi^oman  did  not  know  how  to  wipe  furniture, 
to  brush  it,  and  make  it  look  like  new.  This  cleaning  was 
soon  her  constant  occupation.  Thus,  far  from  diminishing 
in  value,  the  furniture  was  improved.  Then  the  problem  was 
to  use  it  without  wearing  it  out,  without  staining  it,  without 
scratching  the  wood,  or  chilling  the  polish.  This  idea  ere 
long  became  an  old  maid's  monomania.  Sylvie  kept  in  a 
closet  woolen  rags,  wax,  varnish,  and  brushes ;  she  learned  to 
use  them  as  skilfully  as  a  polisher;  she  had  feather  brooms 
and  dusters,  and  she  could  rub  without  fear  of  hurting  her- 
self, she  was  so  strong!  Her  clear,  blue  eye,  as  cold  and 
hard  as  steel,  constantly  peered  under  the  furniture,  and  you 
were  more  likely  to  find  a  tender  chord  in  her  heart  than  a< 
speck  of  flue  under  a  chair. 

After  what  had  passed  at  Madame  Tiphaine's,  Sylvie  coul(!/ 
not  possibly  shirk  the  outlay  of  three  hundred  francs.  During 
the  first  week  Sylvie  was  wholly  occupied,  and  Pierrette  con- 
stantly amused,  by  the  frocks  to  be  ordered  and  tried  on, 
the  shifts  and  petticoats  to  be  cut  out  and  made  by  needle- 
women working  by  the  day.  Pierrette  did  not  know  how  to 
sew. 

"She  has  been  nicely  brought  up!"  cried  Eogron.  "Do 
you  know  nothing,  child?" 

Pierrette,  who  only  knew  how  to  love,  answered  but  by  a 
pretty  childish  shrug. 

"What  did  you  do  all  day  in  Brittany?"  asked  Rogron. 

"I  played,"  she  replied  guilelessly.  "Everybody  played 
with  me.  Grandmamma  and  grandpapa — and  everybody  told 
me  stories.   Oh !  they  were  very  fond  of  me." 

"Indeed !"  replied  Rogron,  "and  so  you  lived  like  a  lady." 

Pierrette  did  not  understand  this  tradesman's  wit.  She 
opened  her  eyes  wide. 

"She  is  as  stupid  as  a  wooden  stool,"  said  Sylvie  to  Made- 
moiselle Borain,  the  best  workwoman  in  Provins. 


PIERRETTE 


£35 


''So  young!"  said  the  needlewoman,  looking  at  Pierrette, 
whose  delicate  little  face  looked  up  at  her  with  a  knowing  ex- 
pression. 

Pierrette  liked  the  workwoman  better  than  her  cousins ;  she 
put  on  prett}^  airs  for  them,  watched  them  sewing,  said  quaint 
things — the  flowers  of  childhood,  such  as  Rogron  and  Sylvie 
had  already  silenced  by  fear,  for  they  liked  to  impress  all 
dependants  with  a  wholesome  alarm.  The  sewing- worn  en 
were  charmed  with  Pierrette.  The  outfit,  however,  was  not 
achieved  without  some  terrible  interjections. 

"That  child  will  cost  us  the  eyes  in  our  heads !"  said 
Sylvie  to  Rogron. 

"Hold  3^ourself  up  child,  do.  The  deuce  is  in  it !  the 
clothes  are  for  you,  not  for  me,''  said  she  to  Pierrette,  when 
she  was  being  measured  or  fitted. 

"Come,  let  Mademoiselle  Borain  do  her  work;  you  won't 
pay  her  day's  wages !"  she  exclaimed,  seeing  the  child  ask 
the  head  needlewoman  to  do  something  for  her. 

"Mademoiselle,"  asked  Mademoiselle  Borain,  "must  this 
seam  be  back-stitched  ?" 

"Yes ;  make  everything  strongly ;  I  do  not  want  to  have  such 
M  piece  of  work  again  in  a  hurry.'^ 

But  it  was  the  same  with  the  little  cousin  as  with  the 
house.  Pierrette  was  to  be  as  well  dressed  as  Madame  Garce- 
land's  little  girl.  She  had  fashionable  little  boots  of  bronze 
kid,  like  the  little  Tiphaine  girl.  She  had  very  fine  cotton 
stockings,  stays  by  the  best  maker,  a  frock  of  blue  reps, 
a  pretty  cape  lined  with  white  silk,  all  in  rivalry  with  young 
Madame  Julliard's  little  girl.  And  the  underclothes  were 
as  good  as  the  outside  show,  Sylvie  was  so  much  afraid  of  the 
keen  and  scrutinizing  eye  of  the  mothers  of  children. 
Pierrette  had  pretty  shifts  of  fine  calico.  Mademoiselle 
Borain  said  that  Madame  the  Sous-prefete's  little  girls  wore 
cambric  drawers  with  embroidery  and  frilling — the  latest 
thing,  in  short;  Pierrette  had  frilled  drawers.  A  charming 
drawn  bonnet  was  ordered  for  her  of  blue  velvet  lined  with 
white  satin,  like  the  little  Martener  girl's.    Thus  Pierrette 


236 


FIERKETTK 


was  the  smartest  little  person  in  Provins.  On  Sunday,  on 
coming  out  from  church,  all  the  ladies  kissed  her.  Mesdames 
Tiphaine,  Garceland,  Galardon,  Auffray,  Lesourd,  Martener, 
Guepin,  and  JuUiard  doted  on  the  sweet  little  Bretonne. 
This  excitement  flattered  old  Sylvie's  vanity,  and  in  her  lav- 
ishness  she  thought  less  of  Pierrette  than  of  gratified  pride. 

However,  S3dvie  was  fated  to  find  ofience  in  her  little 
cousin's  success,  and  this  was  how  it  came  about.  Pierrette 
was  asked  out,  and,  still  to  triumph  over  her  neighbors,  Sylvie 
allowed  her  to  go.  Pierrette  was  called  for  to  play  games  and 
have  dolls'  dinner-parties  with  these  ladies'  children.  Pier- 
rette was  a  much  greater  success  than  the  Eogrons;  Made- 
moiselle Sylvie  was  aggrieved  that  Pierrette  was  in  demand 
at  other  houses,  but  that  no  one  came  to  see  Pierrette  at 
home.  The  artless  child  made  no  secret  of  her  enjoyinent 
at  the  houses  of  the  Tiphaines,  the  Marteners,  the  Galardons, 
the  Julliards,  the  Lesourds,  the  Auffrays,  and  the  Garce- 
lands,  whose  kindness  contrasted  strangely  with  the  vexa- 
tiousness  of  her  cousins.  A  mother  would  have  been  glad 
of  her  child's  happiness ;  but  the  Eogrons  had  taken  Pierrette 
to  please  themselves,  not  to  please  her;  their  feelings,  far 
from  being  paternal,  were  tainted  with  egoism  and  a  sort 
of  commercial  interest. 

The  beautiful'  outfit,  the  fine  Sunday  clothes,  and  the 
everyday  frocks  began  Pierrette's  misfortunes.  Like  all  chil- 
dren free  to  amuse  themselves  and  accustomed  to  follow  th(i 
dictates  of  fancy,  she  wore  out  her  shoes,  boots,  and  frocks 
with  frightful  rapidity,  and,  above  all,  her  frilled  drawers. 
A  mother  when  she  scolds  her  child  thinks  of  the  child  only ; 
she  is  only  hard  when  driven  to  extremities,  and  when  the 
child  is  in  the  wrong;  but  in  this  great  clothes  question,  the 
cousins'  money  was  the  first  consideration;  that  was  the  real 
point,  and  not  Pierrette.  Children  have  a  dog-like  instinct 
for  discerning  injustice  in  those  who  rule  them;  they  feel 
without  fail  whether  they  are  tolerated  or  loved.  Innocent 
hearts  are  more  alive  to  shades  than  to  contrasts ;  a  child  that 
does  not  yet  understand  evil  knows  when  you  offend  the  sense 


PIERRE1T13 


237 


of  beauty  bestowed  on  it  by  nature.  The  lessons  that  Pierrette 
brought  upon  herself  as  to  the  behavior  of  a  well-bred  young 
lady,  as  to  modesty  and  economy,  were  the  corollary  of  this 
main  idea — ^Tierrette  is  ruining  us." 

These  scoldings,  which  had  a  fatal  issue  for  Pierrette,  led 
the  old  couple  back  into  the  familiar  commercial  ruts  from 
which  their  home-life  at  Provins  had  led  them  to  wandej,  and 
in  which  their  nature  could  expand  and  blossom.  After  be- 
ing used  to  domineer,  to  make  remarks,  to  give  orders,  to 
scold  their  clerks  sharply,  Rogron  and  his  sister  were  perish- 
ing for  lack  of  victims.  Small  natures  require  despotism  to 
exercise  their  sinews,  as  great  souls  thirst  for  equality  to  give 
play  to  their  heart.  Now  narrow  minds  can  develop  as  well 
through  persecution  as  through  benevolence;  they  can  assure 
themselves  of  their  power  by  tyrannizing  cruelly  or  benefi- 
cently over  others ;  they  go  the  way  their  nature  guides  them. 
Add  to  this  the  guidance  of  interest,  and  you  will  have  the 
key  to  most  social  riddles.  Pierrette  now  became  very  neces- 
sary to  her  cousins'  existence.  Since  her  arrival  the  Rogrons 
had  been  absorbed  in  her  outfit,  and  then  attracted  by  the 
laovelty  of  companionship.  Every  new  thing,  a  feeling,  or 
even  a  tyranny,  must  form  its  set,  its  creases.  Sylvie  began 
by  calling  Pierrette  "my  child;"  she  gave  up  "my  child"  for 
"Pierrette"  unqualified.  Her  reproofs,  at  first  sourly  gentle, 
became  hard  and  sharp.  As  soon  as  they  had  started  on  this 
road,  the  brother  and  sister  made  rapid  progress.  They  were 
no  longer  dull.  It  was  not  a  deliberate  scheme  of  malice  and 
cruelty;  it  was  the  instinct  of  unreasoning  tyranny.  They  be- 
lieved that  they  were  doing  good  to  Pierrette,  as  of  old  to 
their  apprentices. 

Pierrette,  whose  sensitiveness  was  genuine,  noble,  and 
overstrung,  the  very  antipodes  of  the  Rogrons'  aridity,  had 
a  horror  of  being  blamed;  it  struck  her  so  cruelly  that  tears 
rose  at  once  to  her  large,  clear  eyes.  She  had  a  hard  struggle 
to  suppress  her  engaging  liveliness,  which  charmed  every  one 
out  of  the  house.  She  might  indulge  it  before  the  mothers  of 
her  little  friends ;  but  at  home,  by  the  end  of  the  first  month, 


PIERRETTE 


she  began  to  sit  silent,  and  Rogron  asked  her  if  she  were  ill. 
At  this  strange  question  she  flew  off  to  the  bottom  of  the  gar- 
den to  cry  by  the  river,  into  which  her  tears  fell,  as  she  was 
one  day  to  fall  in  the  torrent  of  society. 

One  day,  in  spite  of  her  care,  the  little  girl  tore  hev  best 
reps  frock  at  Madame  Tiphaine's,  where  she  had  gone  to 
play  one  fine  day.  She  at  once  burst  into  tears,  foreseeing  the 
scolding  that  awaited  her  at  home.  On  being  questioned, 
she  let  fall  a  few  words  about  her  terrible  cousin  Sylvie  in 
the  midst  of  her  tears.  Pretty  Madame  Tiphaine  had  some 
stuff  to  match,  and  she  herself  put  in  a  new  front  breadth. 
Mademoiselle  Rogron  heard  of  the  trick,  as  she  called  it, 
played  on  her  by  that  limb  of  a  little  girl.  From  that  day  sh(? 
would  never  let  Pierrette  visit  any  of  the  ladies. 

The  new  life  which  Pierrette  was  to  lead  at  Provins  wais 
fated  to  fall  into  three  very  distinct  phases.  The  first 
lasted  three  months,  during  which  she  enjoyed  a  kind  of 
happiness,  divided  between  the  old  people's  cold  caresses,  and 
the  scoldings,  which  she  found  scorching.  The  prohibition 
that  kept  her  from  seeing  her  little  friends,  emphasizing  the 
necessity  for  beginning  to  learn  everything  that  a  well- 
brought-up  girl  should  know,  put  an  end  to  the  first  phase 
of  Pierrette's  life  at  Provins,  the  only  period  when  she  found 
existence  endurable. 

The  domestic  changes  produced  at  the  Rogrons'  house  by 
Pierrette's  residence  there  were  studied  by  Vinet  and  the 
Colonel  with  the  cunning  of  a  fox  bent  on  getting  into  a  fowl- 
house,  and  uneasy  at  discovering  a  new  creature  on  the  scene. 
They  both  paid  calls  at  long  intervals,  so  as  not  to  scare  Made- 
moiselle Sylvie ;  they  found  various  excuses  for  chatting  with 
Rogron,  and  made  themselves  masters  of  the  situation  with 
an  air  of  reserve  and  dignity  that  the  great  Tartufe  might 
have  admired.  The  Colonel  and  the  lawyer  spent  at  the  Ro- 
grons' the  evening  of  the  very  day  when  Sylvie  had  refused,  in 
very  harsh  terras,  to  let  Pierrette  go  to  Madame  Tiphaine's. 
On  hearing  of  her  refusal,  the  Colonel  and  the  lawyer  looked 
at  each  other  as  folks  who  know  their  Provins. 


PIERRETTE 


239 


''She  positively  tried  to  make  a  fool  of  you?"  said  the  law- 
yer. "We  warned  Rogron  long  ago  of  what  has  now  hap- 
pened.  There  is  no  good  to  be  got  out  of  those  people." 

'^hat  can  you  expect  of  the  Anti-national  Party?"  cried 
the  Colonel,  curling  up  his  moustache  and  interrupting  Vinet. 
"If  we  had  tried  to  get  you  away  from  them,  you  might  have 
thought  that  we  had  some  malicious  motive  for  speaking  to 
you  so.  But  why,  mademoiselle,  if  you  are  fond  of  a  little 
game,  should  you  not  play  boston  in  the  evenings  at  home  in 
your  own  house?  Is  it  imposvsible  to  find  any  one  in  the 
place  of  such  idiots  as  the  Julliards?  Vinet  and  I  play 
boston;  we  will  find  a  fourth.  Vinet  might  introduce  his 
wife  to  you;  she  is  very  nice,  and  she  is  one  of  the  Charge- 
boeufs.  You  will  not  be  like  those  apes  in  the  upper  town; 
you  will  not  expect  a  good  little  housewife,  who  is  compelled 
by  her  family's  disgraceful  conduct  to  do  all  her  own  house- 
work, to  dress  like  a  duchess, — and  she  has  the  courage  of  a 
lion  and  the  gentleness  of  a  lamb." 

Sylvie  Eogron  displayed  her  long  yellow  teeth  in  a  smile 
at  the  Colonel,  who  endured  the  horrible  phenomenon  very 
well,  and  even  assumed  a  flattering  air. 

"If  there  are  but  four  of  us,  we  cannot  play  boston  every 
evening,"  replied  she. 

"Why,  where  else  have  I  to  go — an  old  soldier  like  me,  who 
has  nothing  to  do,  and  lives  on  his  pensions  ?  The  lawyer 
is  free  every  evening.  Besides,  you  will  have  company,  I 
promise  you,"  he  added,  with  a  mysterious  air. 

"You  have  only  to  declare  yourselves  frankly  opposed  to 
the  Ministerial  party  in  Provins,  and  hold  your  own  against 
them,"  said  Vinet.  "You  would  see  how  popular  you  would 
be  in  Provins;  you  would  have  a  great  many  people  on  your 
side.  You  would  make  the  Tiphaines  furious  by  having  an 
Opposition  salon.  Well,  then,  let  us  laugh  at  others,  if  others 
laugh  at  us.   The  'clique'  do  not  spare  you,  I  can  tell  you." 

"What  do  they  say?"  asked  Sylvie. 

In  country  towns  there  is  always  more  than  one  safety-valve 
by  which  gossip  finds  a  vent  from  one  set  into  another.  Vinet 


240 


PIERRETTE 


had  heard  all  that  had  been  said  about  the  Eogrons  in  the 
drawing-rooms  from  which  the  haberdashers  had  been  defini- 
tively banished.  The  supernumerary  judge  Desfondrilles, 
the  archseologist,  was  of  neither  party.  This  man,  like  some 
other  independent  members  of  society,  repeated  everything 
he  heard,  out  of  provincial  habit,  and  Vinet  had  had  the 
benefit  of  his  chit-chat.  The  malicious  lawyer_repeated  Mad- 
ame Tiphaine's  pleasantries,  with  added  venom.  As  he  re- 
vealed the  practical  jokes  of  which  Sylvie  and  Rogron  had 
been  the  unconscious  victims,  he  stirred  the  rage  and  aroused 
the  revengeful  spirit  of  these  two  arid  souls,  craving  some 
aliment  for  their  mean  passions. 

A  few  days  later  Vinet  brought  his  wife,  a  well-bred  woman, 
shy,  neither  plain  nor  pretty,  very  meek,  and  very  conscious 
of  her  misfortune.  Madame  Vinet  was  fair,  rather  worn  by 
the  cares  of  her  penurious  housekeeping,  and  very  simply 
dressed.  No  woman  could  have  better  pleased  Sylvie.  Mad- 
ame Vinet  put  up  with  Sylvie's  airs,  and  gave  way  to  her  like 
a  woman  accustomed  to  give  way.  On  her  round  forehead, 
her  rose-pink  cheeks,  in  her  slow,  gentle  eyes,  there  were  traces 
of  those  deep  reflections,  that  clear-sighted  thoughtfulness, 
which  women  who  are  used  to  suffering  bury  under  perfect 
silence.  The  influence  of  the  Colonel,  displaying  for  Sylvie's 
behoof  courtieresque  graces  that  seemed  wrung  from  his  sol- 
dierly roughness,  with  that  of  the  wily  Vinet,  soon  made  it- 
self felt  by  Pierrette.  The  child,  the  pretty  squirrel,  shut 
up  in  the  house,  or  going  out  only  with  old  Sylvie,  was  every 
instant  checl^ed  by  a  "Don't  touch  that,  Pierrette !"  and  by 
incessant  sermons  on  holding  herself  up.  Pierrette  stooped 
and  held  her  shoulders  high;  her  cousin  wanted  her  to  be  as 
straight  as  herself,  and  she  vfas  like  a  soldier  presenting  arnis 
to  hie  Colonel;  she  would  sometimes  give  her  little  slaps  on 
her  back  to  make  her  hold  herself  up.  The  free  and  light- 
hearted  child  of  the  Marais  learned  to  measure  her  movements 
and  imitate  an  automaton. 

One  evening,  which  marked  the  beginning  of  the  second 
period,  Pierrette,  whom  the  three  visitors  had  not  seen  in  the 


PIEtlllETTE) 


241 


drawing-room  during  the  evening,  came  to  kiss  her  cousins 
and  courtesy  to  the  company  before  going  to  bed.  Sylvia 
coldly  offered  her  cheek  to  the  pretty  little  thing,  as  if  to  be 
kissed  and  have  done  with  it.  The  action  was  so  cruelly  sig- 
nificant that  tears  started  from  Pierrette's  eyes. 

"Have  you  pricked  yourself,  my  little  Pierrette  ?"  said  the 
abominable  Vinet. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you?"  asked  Sylvic  severely. 

"Nothing,"  said  the  poor  child,  going  to  kiss  Rogron. 

"Nothing?"  repeated  Sylvie.  "You  cannot  be  crying  for 
nothing !" 

"What  is  it,  my  little  pet  ?"  said  Madame  Vinet. 

"My  rich  cousin  Sylvie  does  not  treat  me  so  well  as  my 
poor  grandmother !" 

"Your  grandmother  stole  your  money,"  said  Sylvie,  "and 
your  cousin  will  leave  you  hers." 

The  Colonel  and  Vinet  exchanged  covert  glances. 

"I  would  rather  be  robbed  and  loved,"  said  Pierrette. 

"Very  well,,  you  shall  be  sent  back  to  the  place  you  came 
from." 

"But  what  has  the  dear  child  done?"  asked  Madame 
Vinet. 

Vinet  fixed  his  eye  on  his  wife,  with  that  terrible  cold, 
fixed  stare  that  belongs  to  those  who  rule  despotically.  The 
poor  lonely  woman,  unceasingly  punished  for  not  having  the 
one  thing  required  of  her — namely,  a  fortune— took  up  her 
cards  again. 

"What  has  she  done?"  cried  Sylvie,  raising  her  head  with 
a  jerk  so  sudden,  that  the  yellow  wall-flowers  in  her  cap  were 
shaken.  "She  does  not  know  what  to  do  next  tc  annoy  us. 
She  opened  my  watch  to  examine  the  works,  and  touched  the 
wheel,  and  broke  the  mainspring.  Madam  listens  to  nothing. 
All  day  long  I  am  telling  her  to  take  care  what  she  is  about, 
and  I  might  as  well  talk  to  the  lamp/' 

Pierrette,  ashamed  -of  being  reprimanded  in  the  presence 
of  strangers,  went  out  of  the  room  very  gently. 


242 


PIERRETTE 


"I  cannot  think  how  to  quell  that  child's  turbulence,"  said 
Rogron. 

^'Why,  she  is  old  enough  to  go  to  school/'  said  Madame 
Vinet. 

Another  look  from  Vinet  silenced  his  wife,  to  whom  he 
had  been  careful  not  to  confide  his  plans  5»nd  the  Colonel's 
with  regard  to  the  bachelor  couple. 

"That  is  what  comes  of  taking  charge  of  other  people's 
children,"  cried  Gouraud.  "You  might  have  some  of  your 
own  yet,  you  or  your  brother;  why  do  you  not  both  marry?" 

Sylvie  looked  very  sweetly  at  the  Colonel ;  for  the  first  time 
in  her  life  she  beheld  a  man  to  whom  the  idea  that  she  might 
marry  did  not  seem  absurd. 

"Madame  Vinet  is  right !"  cried  Rogron,  "that  would  keep 
Pierrette  quiet.   A  master  would  not  cost  much." 

The  Colonel's  speech  so  entirely  occupied  Sylvie  that  she 
did  not  answer  her  brother. 

"If  only  you  would  stand  the  money  for  the  Opposition 
paper  we  were  talking  about,  you  might  find  a  tutor  for  your 
little  cousin  in  the  responsible  editor.  We  could  get  that  poor 
schoolmaster  who  was  victimized  by  the  encroachments  of  the 
priests.  My  wife  is  right ;  Pierrette  is  a  rough  diamond  that 
needs  polishing,"  said  Vinet  to  Rogron. 

"I  fancied  that  you  were  a  Baron,"  said  Sylvie  to  the 
Colonel,  after  a  long  pause,  while  each  player  seemed  medita- 
tive. 

"Yes.  But  having  won  the  title  in  1814,  after  the  battle 
of  Nangis,  where  my  regiment  did  wonders,  how  could  I  find 
the  money  or  the  assistance  needed  to  get  it  duly  registered  ? 
The  barony,  like  the  rank  of  general,  which  I  won  in  1815, 
must  wait  for  a  revolution  to  secure  them  to  me." 

"If  you  could  give  a  mortgage  as  your  guarantee  for  the 
money,"  said  Rogron  presently,  "I  could  do  it." 

"That  could  be  arranged  with  Cournant,"  replied  Vinet. 
"The  newspaper  would  lead  to  the  Colonel's  triumph,  and 
make  your  drawing-room  more  powerful  than  those  of  Ti- 
phaine  and  Co." 


PIERRETTE 


243 


"How  is  that  ?"  asked  Sylvie. 

At  this  moment,  while  Madame  Vinet  was  dealing,  and  the 
lawyer  explaining  all  the  importance  that  the  publication  of 
an  independent  paper  for  the  district  of  Provins  must  confer 
on  Eogron,  the  Colonel,  and  himself,  Pierrette  was  bathed  in 
tears.  Her  heart  and  brain  were  agreed;  she  thought  Sylvie 
far  more  to  blame  .than  herself.  The  little  Bretonne  in- 
stinctively perceived  how  unfailing  charity  and  benevolence 
should  be.  She  hated  her  fine  frocks  and  all  that  was  done  for 
her.  She  paid  too  dear  for  these  benefits.  She  cried  with 
rage  at  having  given  her  cousins  a  hold  over  her,  and  deter- 
mined to  behave  in  such  a  way  as  to  reduce  them  to  silence, 
poor  child !  Then  she  saw  how  noble  Brigaut  had  been  to  give 
her  his  savings.  She  thought  her  woes  had  reached  a  climaj^, 
not  knowing  that  at  that  moment  new  misfortunes  were  being 
plotted  in  the  drawing-room. 

A  few  days  later  Pierrette  had  a  writing-master.  She  was 
to  learn  to  read,  write,  and  do  sums.  Pierrette's  education 
involved  the  house  of  Rogron  in  fearful  disaster.  There  was 
ink  on  the  tables,  on  the  furniture,  and  on  her  clothes ;  writ- 
ing-books and  pens  strewn  everywhere,  powder  on  the  uphol- 
stery, books  torn  and  dog-eared  while  she  was  learning  her  les- 
sons. They  already  spoke  to  her — and  in  what  a  way  ! — of  the 
necessity  for  earning  her  living  and  being  a  burden  on  no  one. 
As  she  heard  these  dreadful  warnings,  Pierrette  felt  a  burn- 
ing in  her  throat ;  she  was  choking,  her  heart  beat  painfully 
fast.  She  was  obliged  to  swallow  down  her  tears ;  for  each  one 
was  reckoned  with  as  an  offence  against  her  magnanimous 
relations.  Rogron  had  found  the  occupation  that  suited  him. 
He  scolded  Pierrette  as  he  had  formerly  scolded  his  shopmen ; 
he  would  fetch  her  in  from  the  midst  of  her  play  to  compel 
her  to  study;  he  heard  her  repeat  her  lessons;  he  was  the 
poor  child's  fierce  tutor.  Sylvie,  on  her  part,  thought  it  her 
duty  to  teach  Pierrette  the  little  she  knew  of  womanly  ae- 
oomplishments. 

JiTeither  Rogron  nor  his  sister  had  any  gentleness  of  na- 
ture.  These  narrow  souls,  finding  a  real  pleasure  in  bullying 


244 


PIERRETTE 


the  poor  little  tiling,  elianged  unconsciously  from  mildness 
to  the  greatest  severity.  This  severity  was,  they  said,  the 
consequence  of  the  child's  obstinacy;  she  had  begun  too  late 
to  learn,  and  was  dull  of  apprehension.  Her  teachers  did  not 
understand  the  art  of  giving  lessons  in  a  form  suited  to  the 
pupil's  intelligence,  which  is  what  should  distinguish  private 
from  public  education.  The  fault  lay  far  less  with  Pierrette 
than  with  her  cousins.  It  took  her  an  immensely  long  time 
to  learn  the  beginnings.  For  the  merest  trifle  she  was  called 
stupid  and  silly,  foolish  and  awkward.  Incessantly  ill-used 
by  hard  words,  Pierrette  never  met  any  but  cold  looks  from 
the  two  old  people.  She  fell  into  the  stolid  dulness  of  a  sheep ; 
she  dared  do  nothing  when  she  found  her  actions  misjudged, 
-misunderstood,  misinterpreted.  In  everything  she  awaited 
Sylvie's  orders,  and  the  expression  of  her  cousin's  will,  keep- 
ing her  thoughts  to  herself  and  shutting  herself  up  in  passive 
obedience.  Her  bright  color  began  to  fade.  Sometimes  she 
complained  of  aches  and  pains.  When  Sylvie  asked  her. 
Where  ?  the  poor  child,  who  felt  generally  ailing,  replied,  ^^All 
over.^' 

"Was  ever  such  a  thing  heard  of  as  aching  all  over?  If  you 
were  ill  all  over,  you  would  be  dead !"  retorted  Sylvie. 

"You  may  have  a  pain  in  your  chest,"  said  Eogron  the  ex- 
positor, "or  in  your  teeth,  or  your  head,  or  your  feet,  or  your 
stomach,  but  no  one  ever  had  pains  everywhere.  What  do 
you  mean  by  'all  over?'  Pain  all  over  is  pain  nowhere.  Do 
you  know  what  you  are  doing  ?  You  are  talking  for  talking's 
sake." 

Pierrette  at  last  never  spoke,  finding  that  her  artless  girlish 
remarks,  the  flowers  of  her  opening  mind,  were  met  with 
commonplace  retorts  which  her  good  sense  told  her  were 
ridiculous. 

"You  are  always  complaining,  and  you  eat  like  a  fasting 
friar !"  said  Rogron. 

The  only  person  who  never  distressed  this  sweet  fragile 
flower  was  the  sturdy  servant  Adele.  Adele  always  warmed 
the  little  girl's  bed,  but  in  secret,  since  one  evening  wlien, 


PIEF.KETT15 


245 


being  discovered  in  the  act  of  thus  ''spoiling"  her  master's 
heiress,  she  was  scolded  by  Sylvie. 

"Children  must  be  hardened ;  that  is  the  way  to  give  them 
strong  constitutions.  Have  we  been  any  the  worse  for  it,  my 
brother  and  I?"  said  Sylvie.  "You  will  make  Pierrette  a 
peeky  coddle !" — une  picheline,  a  word  of  the  Rogron  vocabu- 
lary to  designate  weakly  and  complaining  persons. 

The  little  angel's  caressing  expressions  were  regarded  as 
mere  acting.  The  roses  of  affection  that  budded  so  fresh  and 
lovely  in  this  young  soul,  and  longed  to  open  to  the  day,  were 
mercilessly  crushed.  Pierrette  felt  the  hardest  blows  on  the 
tenderest  spots  of  her  heart.  If  she  tried  to  soften  these  two 
savage  natures  by  her  pretty  ways,  she  was  accused  of  ex- 
pressing her  tenderness  out  of  self-interest.  "Tell  me  plainly 
what  you  want,"  Rogron  would  exclaim  roughly;  "you  are 
certainly  not  coaxing  me  for  nothing." 

Neither  the  sister  nor  the  brother  recognized  affection,  and 
Pierrette  was  all  affection. 

Colonel  Gouraud,  anxious  to  please  Mademoiselle  Rogron, 
declared  her  right  in  all  that  concerned  Pierrette.  Vinet  no 
less  supported  the  old  cousins  in  their  abuse  of  Pierrette;  he 
ascribed  all  the  reported  misdeeds  of  this  angel  to  the  ob- 
stinacy of  the  Breton  character,  and  said  that  no  power,  no 
strength  of  will,  could  ever  conquer  it.  Rogron  and  his  sis- 
ter were  flattered  with  the  utmost  skill  by  these  two  courtiers, 
who  had  at  last  succeeded  in  extracting  from  Rogron  the 
surety  money  for  the  newspaper,  the  Provins  Courrier,  and 
from  Sylvie  five  thousand  francs,  as  a  shareholder.  The 
Colonel  and  Vinet  now  took  the  field.  They  disposed  of  a 
hundred  shares  at  five  hundred  francs  each  to  the  electors 
who  held  State  securities,  and  whom  the  Liberal  journals 
filled  with  alarms,  to  farmers,  and  to  persons  who  were  called 
independent.  They  even  extended  their  ramifications  over  the 
whole  department,  and  beyond  it,  to  some  adjacent  townships. 
Each  shareholder  subscribed  for  the  paper,  of  course.  Then 
the  legal  and  other  advertisements  were  divided  between  the 
Ruche  and  the  Courrier.    The  first  number  eontaiixed  a 


246 


PIERRETTE 


grandiloquent  column  in  praise  of  Eogron,  who  was  repre* 
Bentecl  as  the  Laffitte  of  Provins. 

As  soon  as  the  public  mind  lound  a  leader,  it  became  easy 
to  perceive  that  the  coming  elections  would  be  hotly  con- 
tested.  Madame  Tiphaine  was  in  despair. 

''Unfortunately,"  said  she,  as  she  read  an  article  attack- 
ing her  and  Monsieur  Julliard,  "unfortunately,  I  forgot  that 
there  is  always  a  rogue  not  far  away  from  a  dupe,  and  that 
folly  always  attracts  a  clever  man  of  the  fox  species." 

As  soon  as  the  newspaper  was  to  be  seen  for  twenty  leagues 
round,  Vinet  had  a  new  coat  and  boots,  and  a  decent  waist- 
coat and  trousers.  He  displayed  the  famous  white  hat  af- 
fected by  Liberals,  and  showed  his  collar  and  cuffs.  His  wife 
engaged  a  servant,  and  appeared  dressed  as  became  the  wife 
of  an  influential  man ;  she  wore  pretty  caps. 

Vinet,  out  of  self-interest,  was  grateful.  He  and  his  friend 
Cournant,  notary  to  the  Liberal  side,  and  Auff ray's  op- 
ponent, became  the  Rogrons'  advisers,  and  did  them  two 
great  services.  The  leases  granted  by  old  Rogron  their  father, 
in  1815,  under  unfortunate  circumstances,  were  about  to  fall 
in.  Horticulture  and  market-gardening  had  lately  developed 
enormously  in  the  Provins  district.  The  pleader  and  the 
notary  made  it  their  business  to  effect  an  increase  of  fourteen 
hundred  francs  a  year  on  granting  the  new  leases.  Vinet 
also  won  for  them  two  lawsuits  against  two  villages,  relating  to 
plantations  of  trees,  in  which  the  loss  of  five  hundred  poplars 
was  involved.  The  money  for  the  poplars,  with  the  Rogrons' 
savings,  which  for  the  last  three  years  had  amounted  to  six 
thousand  francs  deposited  at  compound  interest,  was  skilfully 
laid  out  in  the  purchase  of  several  plots  of  land.  Finally, 
Vinet  proposed  and  carried  out  the  eviction  of  certain  peas- 
ant proprietors,  to  whom  Rogron  the  elder  had  lent  mone}^ 
and  who  had  killed  themselves  with  cultivating  and  manur- 
ing their  land  to  enable  them  to  repay  it,  but  in  vain. 

Thus  the  damage  done  to  the  Rogrons'  capital  by  the  re- 
construction of  their  house  Avas  to  a  great  extent  remedied. 
Their  estates  in  the  immediate  neighborhood  of  the  town. 


PIERRETTE 


247 


chosen  by  their  father  as  innkeepers  know  how  to  choose,  cut 
up  into  small  holdings  of  which  the  largest  was  less  than  five 
acres,  and  let  to  perfectly  solvent  tenants,  themselves  owners 
of  some  plots  of  land  mortgaged  to  secure  the  farm  rents, 
brought  in  at  Martinmas,  in  November  182G,  five  thousand 
francs.  The  taxes  were  paid  by  the  tenants,  and  there  were 
no  buildings  to  repair  or  insure  against  fire. 

The  brother  and  sister  each  possessed  four  thousand  six 
hundred  francs  in  the  five  per  cents;  and  as  their  selling 
value  was  above  par,  Vinet  exhorted  them  to  invest  the  money 
in  land,  promising  them — seconded  by  the  notary — that  they 
should  not  lose  a  farthing  of  interest  by  the  transfer. 

By  the  end  of  this  second  period  life  was  so  intolerable  to 
Pierrette — the  indifference  of  all  about  her,  the  senseless  fault- 
finding and  lack  of  affection  in  her  cousins  became  so  virulent, 
she  felt  so  plainly  the  cold  chill  of  the  tomb  blowing  upon 
her,  that  she  entertained  the  daring  project  of  going  away, 
on  foot,  with  no  money,  to  Brittany  to  rejoin  her  grandfather 
and  grandmother.  Two  events  prevented  this:  Old  Lorrain 
died,  and  Eogron  was  appointed  Pierrette's  guardian  by  a 
family  council  held  at  Provins.  If  her  old  grandmother 
had  died  first,  it  is  probable  that  Eogron,  advised  by  Vinet, 
would  have  called  upon  the  grandfather  to  repay  the  child's 
eight  thousand  francs,  and  have  reduced  him  to  beggary. 

"Why,  you  may  inherit  Pierrette's  money,"  said  Vinet  with 
a  hideous  smile.  "You  can  never  tell  who  will  live  or  who 
will  die." 

Enlightened  by  this  speech,  Eogron  left  the  widow  Lor- 
rain no  peace  as  Pierrette's  debtor  till  he  had  made  her  secure 
to  the  little  girl  the  capital  of  the  eight  thousand  francs  by 
a  deed  of  gift,  of  which  he  paid  the  cost. 

Pierrette  was  strangely  affected  by  this  loss.  Just  as  the 
blow  fell  on  her  she  was  to  be  prepared  for  her  first  Com- 
munion, the  other  event  which  by  its  obligations  tied  her  to 
Provins.  This  necessary  and  simple  ceremony  was  to  bring 
about  great  changes  for  the  Eogrons.   Sylvie  learned  that  the 


248 


PIERRETTE 


cure.  Monsieur  Peroux,  was  instructing  the  little  «^ulliards, 
the  Lesourds,  Garcelands^  and  others.  She  made  it  therefore 
a  point  of  honor  to  put  Pierrette  under  the  guidance  of  the 
Abbe  Peroux's  superior,  Monsieur  Habert,  a  man  who  was 
said  to  belong  to  thf  Jesuit  Congregation — very  zealous  for 
the  interests  of  the  Church,  much  dreaded  in  Provins,  and 
Hiding  immense  ambition  under  the  strictest  severity  of  prin- 
ciple. The  priest's  sister,  an  unmarried  woman  of  about 
thirty,  had  a  school  for  girls  in  the  town.  The  brother  and 
sister  were  much  alike;  both  lean,  sallow,  atrabilious,  with 
black  hair. 

Pierrette,  a  Bretonne  nurtured  in  the  practice  and  poetry 
of  the  Catholic  faith,  opened  her  heart  and  ears  to  the  teach- 
ing of  this  imposing  priest.  Suffering  predisposes  the  mind 
to  devoutness ;  and  most  young  girls,  prompted  by  instinctive 
tenderness,  lean  towards  mysticism,  the  obscurer  side  of  re- 
ligion. So  the  priest  sowed  the  seed  of  the  Gospel  and  the 
dogmas  of  the  Church  in  good  ground.  He  completely 
changed  Pierrette's  frame  of  mind.  Pierrette  loved  Jesus 
Christ  as  presented  to  girls  in  the  Sacrament,  as  a  celestial 
bridegroom ;  her  moral  and  physical  sufferings  now  had  their 
meaning ;  she  was  taught  to  see  the  hand  of  God  in  everything. 
Her  soul,  so  cruelly  stricken  in  this  house,  while  she  could 
not  accuse  her  cousins,  took  refuge  in  the  sphere  whither  fly 
all  who  are  wretched,  borne  on  the  wings  of  the  three  Chris- 
tian virtues.  She  gave  up  the  idea  of  flight.  Sylvie,  amazed 
at  the  alteration  produced  in  Pierrette  by  Monsieur  Habert, 
becamie  curious.  And  so,  while  preparing  the  child  for  Iier 
first  Communion,  Monsieur  Habert  won  to  God  the  hitherto 
wandering  soul  of  Mademoiselle  Sylvie.  Sylvie  became  a 
bigot. 

Denis  Rogron,  over  whom  the  supposed  Jesuit  could  get 
'^o  hold — for  at  that  time  the  spirit  of  his  late  lamented 
Majesty  Constitution  the  First  was  in  some  simpletons  su- 
preme above  that  of  the  Church — Denis  remained  faithful  to 
Colonel  Gouraud,  Yinet,  and  Liberalism. 

Mademoiselle  Rogron,  of  course,  made  acquaintance  with 


FIERKETTE  249 

Mademoiselle  Habert,  with  whom  she  was  in  perfect  sym.- 
pathy.  The  two  old  maids  loved  each  other  like  two  loving 
sisters.  Mademoiselle  Habert  proposed  to  take  Pierrette 
under  her  care,  and  spare  Sylvie  the  trouble  and  vexations 
of  educating  a  child;  but  the  brother  and  sister  replied  that 
Pierrette's  absence  would  make  the  house  feel  too  empty.  The 
Kogrons'  attachment  to  their  little  cousin  seemed  excessive. 

On  seeing  Mademoiselle  Habert  in  possession,  Colonel 
Gouraud  and  Vinet  ascribed  to  the  ambitious  priest,  on  his 
sister's  behalf,  the  matrimonial  scheme  imagined  by  the 
Colonel. 

"Your  sister  wants  to  see  you  married,"  said  the  lawyer  to 
ihe  ex-haberdasher. 

"And  to  whom?'^  said  Eogron. 

"To  that  old  sibyl  of  a  schoolmistress,"  cried  the  Colone), 
curling  his  moustache. 

"She  has  said  nothing  to  me  about  it,"  said  Eogron  blankly. 

A  woman  so  determined  as  Sylvie  was  sure  to  make  great 
progress  in  the  ways  of  salvation.  The  priest's  influence  soon 
grew  in  the  house,  supported  as  it  was  by  Sylvie,  who  man- 
aged her  brother.  The  two  Liberals,  very  legitimately 
iilarmed,  understood  that  if  the  priest  had  determined  to  get 
Eogron  for  his  sister's  husband — a  far  more  suitable  match 
than  that  of  Sylvie  and  the  Colonel — he  would  urge  Sylvie 
to  the  excessive  practice  of  religion,  and  make  Pierrette  go 
into  a  convent.  They  would  thus  lose  the  reward  of  eighteen 
months  of  efforts,  meanness,  and  flattery.  They  took  a  ter- 
rible dumb  hatred  of  the  priest  and  his  sister,  and  yet,  if 
they  were  to  keep  up  with  them  step  for  step,  they  felt  the 
necessity  of  remaining  on  good  terms  with  them. 

Monsieur  and  Mademoiselle  Habert,  who  played  both  whist 
and  boston,  came  every  evening.  Their  assiduity  excited  that 
of  the  others.  The  lawyer  and  the  soldier  felt  that  they  were 
pitted  against  adversaries  stronger  than  themselves,  a  pre- 
conception which  Monsieur  Habert  and  his  sister  fully 
shared.  This  situation  was  in  itself  a  battle.  Just  as  the 
Colonel  gave  to  Sylvie  a  foretaste  of  the  unhoped-for  joys  of 


250 


PIERRETTE 


an  offer  of  marriage — for  she  had  brought  herself  to  regard 
Gouraud  as  a  man  worthy  of  her — so  Mademoiselle  Habert 
wrapped  the  retired  haberdasher  in  the  cotton  wool  of  her  at- 
tentionS;,  her  speeches,  and  her  looks.  Neither  party  could 
say  to  itself  the  great  word  of  great  politicians,  "Divide  the 
spoil !"  each  insisted  on  the  whole  prize. 

Besides,  the  two  wily  foxes  of  the  opposition  at  Provins — 
an  Opposition  that  was  growing  in  strength — ^were  rash 
enough  to  believe  themselves  stronger  than  the  Priesthood; 
they  were  the  first  to  fire.  Vinet,  whose  gratitude  was  stirred 
up  by  the  claw-fingers  of  self-interest,  went  to  fetch  Made- 
moiselle de  Chargeboeuf  and  her  mother.  The  two  women, 
who  had  about  two  thousand  francs  a  year,  lived  veiy  nar- 
rowly at  Troyes.  Mademoiselle  Bathilde  de  Chargeboeuf  was 
one  of  those  splendid  women  who  believe  in  marrying  for 
love,  and  change  their  minds  towards  their  five-and-twentieth 
year  on  finding  themselves  still  unwedded.  Vinet  succeeded 
in  persuading  Madame  de  Chargeboeuf  to  combine  her  two 
thousand  francs  with  the  thousand  crowns  he  was  making 
now  that  the  newspaper  was  started,  and  to  come  and  li^e 
with  him  at  Provins,  where  Bathilde,  he  said,  might  marry  at 
simpleton  named  Eogron,  and,  so  clever  as  she  was,  rivitl 
handsome  Madame  Tiphaine. 

The  reinforcement  of  Yinet's  household  and  ideas  by  tht» 
arrival  of  Madame  and  Mademoiselle  de  Chargeboeuf  gave  the' 
utmost  cohesion  to  the  Liberal  party.  Tliis  coalition  brought 
consternation  to  the  aristocracy  of  Provins  and  the  Tiphaine 
party.  Madame  de  Breautey,  in  dismay  at  seeing  two  women 
of  family  so  misled,  begged  them  to  come  to  see  her.  She 
bewailed  the  blunders  committed  by  the  Eoyalists,  and  was 
furious  with  those  of  Troyes  on  learning  the  poverty  of  this 
mother  and  daughter. 

"What !  was  there  no  old  country  gentleman  who  would 
marry  that  dear  girl,  born  to  rule  a  chateau?"  cried  she. 
"They  had  let  her  run  to  seed,  and  now  she  will  throw  herself 
at  the  head  of  a  Kogron  !" 

She  hunted  the  department  through  and  failed  to  find  one 


IPIERRKTTE 


251 


gentleman  who  would  marry  a  girl  whose  mother  had  but  two 
thousand  francs  a  year.  Then  the  "clique"  of  the  Tiphaines 
and  the  Sous-prcfet  also  set  to  work,  but  too  late,  to  discover 
such  a  man.  Madame  de  Breautey  inveighed  loudly  against 
the  selfishness  that  was  eating  up  France^  the  result  of  ma- 
terialism and  of  the  power  conferred  on  money  by  the  laws; 
the  nobility  was  nothing  in  these  days  !  Beauty  was  nothing ! 
Eogrons  and  Vinets  were  defying  the  King  of  France ! 

Bathilde  had  the  indisputable  advantage  over  her  rival  not 
merely  of  beauty,  but  of  dress.  She  was  dazzlingly  fair. 
At  five-and-twenty  her  fully-developed  shoulders  and  splendid 
modeling  were  exquisitely  full.  The  roundness  of  her  throat, 
the  slenderness  of  her  articulations,  the  splendor  of  her  fine 
fair  hair,  the  charm  of  her  smile,  the  elegant  shape  of  her 
head,  the  dignity  and  outline  of  her  face,  her  fine  eyes  under  a 
well-moulded  brow,  her  calm  and  well-bred  movements,  and 
her  still  girlish  figure,  all  were  in  harmony.  She  had  a  fine 
hand  and  a  narrow  foot.  Her  robust  health  gave  her,  per- 
haps, the  look  of  a  handsome  inn-servant ;  '^ut  that  should  be 
no  fault  in  Eogron's  eyes,"  said  pretty  Madame  Tiphaine. 

The  first  time  Mademoiselle  de  Chargeboeuf  was  seen  she 
was  dressed  simply  enough.  Her  dress  of  brown  merino, 
edged  with  green  embroidery,,  was  cut  low ;  but  a  kerchief  of 
tulle,  neatly  drawn  down  by  invisible  strings,  covered  her 
ishoulders,  back,  and  bust,  a  little  open  at  the  throat,  though 
fastened  by  a  brooch  and  chain.  Under  this  fine  network 
Bathilde's  beauty  was  even  more  attractive,  more  suggestive. 
She  took  oif  her  velvet  bonnet  and  her  shawl  on  entering, 
and  showed  pretty  ears  with  gold  eardrops.  She  had  a  little 
cross  and  heart  on  black  velvet  round  her  neck,  which  con- 
trasted with  its  whiteness  like  the  black  that  fantastic  nature 
sets  round  the  tail  of  a  white  Angora  cat.  She  was  expert 
in  all  the  arts  of  girls  on  their  promotion :  twisting  her  fingers 
to  arrange  curls  that  are  not  out  of  place,  displaying  her 
wrists  by  begging  Eogron  to  button  her  cuff,  which  the  hap- 
less man,  quite  dazzled,  bluntly  refused  to  do,  hiding  his 
agitation  under  assumed  indifference.  The  bashfulness  of  the 


252 


PIEKRETTE 


only  passion  our  haLerdasher  was  ever  to  know  in  his  life 
always  gave  it  the  demeanor  of  hatred.  Sylvie,  as  well  as 
Celeste  Habert,  misunderstood  it:  not  so  the  lawyer,  the 
superior  man  of  this  company  of  simpletons,  whose  only  enemy 
was  the  priest,  for  the  Colonel  had  long  been  his  ally. 

Gouraud,  on  his  part,  thenceforth  behaved  to  Sylvie  as 
Bathilde  did  to  Rogron.  He  appeared  in  clean  linen  every 
evening;  he  wore  velvet  collars,  which  gave  effect  to  his  mar- 
tial countenance,  set  off  by  the  corners  of  his  white  shirt  col- 
lar; he  adopted  white  drill  waistcoats,  and  had  a  new  frock- 
coat  made  of  blue  cloth,  on  which  his  red  rosette  was  con- 
spicuous, and  all  under  pretence  of  doing  honor  to  the  fair 
Bathilde.  He  never  smoked  after  two  o'clock.  His  grizzled 
hair  was  brushed  down  in  a  wave  over  his  ochre-colored  skull. 
In  short,  he  assumed  the  appearance  and  attitude  of  a  party 
chief,  of  a  man  who  was  prepared  to  rout  the  enemies  of 
France — in  one  word,  the  Bourbons — with  tuck  of  drum. 

The  satanical  pleader  and  the  cunning  Colonel  played  a 
still  more  cruel  trick  on  Monsieur  and  Mademoiselle  Habert 
than  that  of  introducing  the  beautiful  Mademoiselle  de 
Chargeboeuf,  who  was  pronounced  by  the  Liberal  party  and 
by  the  Breauteys  to  be  ten  times  handsomer  than  the  beauti- 
ful Madame  Tiphaine.  These  two  great  country-town  politi- 
cians had  it  rumored  from  one  to  another  that  Monsieur  Ha- 
bert agreed  with  them  on  all  points.  Provins  before  long 
spoke  of  him  as  a  "Liberal  priest."  Called  up  before  the 
Bishop,  Monsieur  Habert  was  obliged  to  give  up  his  even- 
ings with  the  Eogrons,  but  his  sister  still  went  there.  Thence- 
forth the  Rogron  drawing-room  was  a  fact  and  a  power. 

And  so,  by  the  middle  of  that  year,  political  intrigues  were 
not  less  eager  than  matrimonial  intrigues  in  the  Rogrons' 
rooms.  While  covert  interests,  buried  out  of  sight,  were 
fighting  wildly  for  the  upper  hand,  the  public  struggle  won 
disastrous  notoriety.  Everybody  knows  that  the  Villele  min- 
istry was  overthrown  by  the  elections  of  1826.  In  the  Provins 
constituency,  Vinet,  the  Liberal  candidate — for  whom  Mon- 
sieur Cournant  had  obtained  his  qualification  by  the  purchase 


PIERRETTE 


253 


of  some  land  of  which  tlie  price  remained  unpaid — came  very 
iear  beating  Monsieur  Tiphaine.  The  President  had  a  ma- 
jority of  only  two. 

Mesdames  Vinet  and  de  Chargebocuf,  Vinet  and  the  Colo* 
nel^  were  sometimes  joined  by  Monsieur  Cournant  and  his 
wife ;  then  by  Neraud  the  doctor,  a  man  whose  youth  had  been 
very  "stormy/'  but  who  now  took  serious  views  of  life;  he 
had  devoted  himself  to  science,  it  was  said,  and  if  the  Liberals 
were  to  be  believed,  was  a  far  cleverer  man  than  Monsieur 
Martener.  To  the  Rogrons  their  triumph  was  as  inexplicable 
as  their  ostracism  had  been. 

The  handsome  Bathilde  de  Chargeboeuf,  to  whom  Vinet 
spoke  of  Pierrette  as  an  enemy,  was  horribly  disdainful  to 
the  child.  The  humiliation  of  this  poor  victim  was  necessary 
to  the  interest  of  all.  Madame  Vinet  could  do  nothing  for  ^ 
the  little  girl  who  was  being  brayed  in  the  mortar  of  the 
pitiless  egotisms  which  the  lady  at  last  understood.  But  for 
her  husband's  imperative  desire  she  would  never  have  come 
to  the  Rogrons ;  it  grieved  her  too  much  to  see  their  ill-usage 
of  the  pretty  little  thing  who  clung  to  her,  understanding 
her  secret  good-will,  and  begged  her  to  teach  her  such  or  such 
a  stitch  or  embroidery  pattern.  Pierrette  had  shown  that 
when  she  was  thus  treated  she  understood  and  succeeded  to 
admiration.  But  Madame  Vinet  was  no  longer  of  any  use, 
so  she  came  no  more. 

Sylvie,  who  still  cherished  the  notion  of  marriage,  now  re- 
garded Pierrette  as  an  obstacle.  Pierrette  was  nearly  four- 
teen ;  her  sickly  fairness,  a  symptom  that  was  quite  overlooked 
by  the  ignorant  old  maid,  made  her  lovely.  Then  Sylvie  had 
the  bright  idea  of  indemnifying  herself  for  the  expenses 
caused  by  Pierrette  by  making  a  servant  of  her.  Vinet,  as 
representing  the  interests  of  the  Chargeboeufs,  Mademoiselle 
Habert,  Gouraud,  all  the  influential  visitors,  advised  Sylvie 
by  ail  means  to  dismiss  Adele.  Could  not  Pierrette  cook  and 
keep  the  house  in  order?  When  there  was  too  much  to  be 
done,  she  need  only  engage  the  Colonel's  housekeeper,  a  very 
accomplished  person,  and  one  of  the  best  cooks  in  Provins. 


254 


PIERRETTE 


Pierrette  ought  to  learn  to  cook  and  to  polish  the  floors,  said 
the  baleful  lawyer,  to  sweep,  keep  the  house  neat,  go  to  mar- 
ket, and  know  the  price  of  things.  The  poor  little  girl,  whose 
unselfishness  was  as  great  as  her  generosity,  offered  it  herself, 
glad  to  pay  thus  for  the  hard  bread  she  ate  under  that  roof. 

Adele  went.  Thus  Pierrette  lost  the  only  person  who  might 
perhaps  have  protected  her.  Strong  as  she  was,  from  that 
hour  she  was  crushed  body  and  soul.  The  old  people  had  less 
mercy  on  her  than  on  a  servant :  she  was  their  property !  She 
was  scolded  for  mere  nothings,  for  a  little  dust  left  on  the 
corner  of  a  chimney-shelf  or  a  glass  shade.  These  objects  of 
luxury  that  she  had  so  much  admired  became  odious  to  her. 
In  spite  of  her  anxiety  to  do  right,  her  relentless  cousin  Sylvie 
always  found  some  fault  with  everything  she  did.  In  two 
years  Pierrette  never  heard  a  word  of  praise  or  of  affection. 
Her  whole  happiness  consisted  in  not  being  scolded.  She 
submitted  with  angelic  patience  to  the  dark  moods  of  these 
two  unmarried  beings,  to  whom  the  gentler  feelings  were  all 
unknown,  and  who  made  her  suffer  every  day  from  her  de- 
pendency. This  life  in  which  the  young  girl  was  gripped, 
as  it  were,  between  the  two  haberdashers  as  in  the  jaws  of 
a  vise,  increased  her  malady.  She  had  such  violent  fits  of 
inexplicable  distress,  such  sudden  bursts  of  secret  grief,  that 
her  physical  development  was  irremediably  checked.  And 
thus,  by  slow  degrees,  through  terrible  though  concealed  suf- 
ferings, Pierrette  had  come  to  the  state  in  which  the  friend  of 
her  childhood  had  seen  her  as  he  stood  on  the  little  Square 
and  greeted  her  with  his  Breton  ballad. 

Before  entering  on  the  story  of  the  domestic  drama  in  the 
Kogrons'  house,  to  which  Brigaut's  arrival  gave  rise,  it  will 
be  necessary,  to  avoid  digressions,  to  account  for  the  lad's  set- 
tling at  Provins,  since  he  is  in  some  sort  a  silent  personage  on 
the  stage. 

Brigaut,  as  he  fled,  was  alarmed  not  merely  by  Pierrette's 
signal,  but  also  by  the  change  in  his  little  friend;  hardly 
could  he  recognize  her,  but  for  the  voice,  eyes,  and  movements 


PIKRRETTE 


255 


which  recalled  his  lively  little  playfellow,  at  once  so  gay  and 
so  loving.  When  he  had  got  far  away  from  the  house,  his  legs 
quaked  under  him,  his  spine  felt  on  fire !  He  had  seen  the 
shadow  of  Pierrette,  and  not  Pierrette  herself.  He  made  his 
way  up  to  the  old  town,  thoughtful  and  uneasy,  till  he  found 
a  spot  whence  he  could  see  the  Place  and  the  house  where 
Pierrette  lived;  he  gazed  at  it  sadly,  lost  in  thought  as  in- 
finite as  the  troubles  into  which  we  plunge  without  knowing 
where  they  may  end.  Pierrette  was  ill ;  she  was  unhappy ;  she 
regretted  Brittany !  What  ailed  her  ?  All  these  questions 
passed  again  and  again  through  Brigaut's  mind,  and  racked 
his  breast,  revealing  to  him  the  extent  of  his  affection  for  his 
little  adopted  sister: 

It  is  very  rarely  that  a  passion  between  two  children  of 
different  sexes  remains  permanent.  The  charming  romance 
of  Paul  and  Virginia  no  more  solves  the  problem  of  this 
strange  moral  fact  than  does  that  of  Brigaut  and  Pierrette. 
Modern  history  offers  the  single  illustrious  exception  of  the 
sublime  Marchesa  di  Pescara  and  her  husband,  who,  destined 
for  each  other  by  their  parents  at  the  age  of  fourteen,  adored 
each  other,  and  were  married.  Their  union  gave  to  the  six- 
teenth century  the  spectacle  of  boundless  conjugal  affection, 
never  clouded.  The  Marchesa,  a  widow  at  four-and-thirty, 
beautiful,  witty,  universally  beloved,  refused  monarchs,  and 
buried  herself  in  a  convent,  where  she  never  saw,  never  heard, 
any  one  but  nuns. 

Such  perfect  love  as  this  blossomed  suddenly  in  the  heart 
of  the  poor  Breton  artisan.  Pierrette  and  he  had  so  often 
been  each  other's  protectors,  he  had  been  so  happy  in  giving 
her  the  money  for  her  journey,  he  had  almost  died  of  run- 
ning after  the  diligence,  and  Pierrette  had  not  known  it! 
The  memory  of  it  had  often  warmed  him  during  the  chill 
hours  of  his  toilsome  life  these  three  years  past.  He  had  im- 
proved himself  for  Pierrette;  he  had  learned  his  craft  for 
Pierrette;  he  had  come  to  Paris  for  Pierrette,  intending  to 
make  a  fortune  for  her.  After  being  there  a  fortnight,  he 
could  no  longer  control  his  longing  to  see  her;  he  had  walked 


256 


PIERRETTE 


from  Saturday  evening  till  Monday  morning.  He  had  in- 
tended  to  return  to  Paris,  but  the  pathetic  appearance  of  his 
little  friend  held  him  fast  to  Provins.  A  wonderful  mag- 
netism— 'still  disputed,  it  is  true,  in  spite  of  so  many  in- 
stances— acted  on  him  without  his  knowing  it ;  and  tears  filled 
his  eyes,  while  they  also  dimmed  Pierrette's  sight.  If  to  her 
he  was  Brittany  and  all  her  happy  childhood,  to  him  Pier- 
rette was  life !  At  sixteen  Brigaut  had  not  yet  learned  to 
draw  or  give  the  section  of  a  moulding;  there  were  many 
things  he  did  not  know ;  but  at  piecework  he  had  earned  from 
four  to  five  francs  a  day.  So  he  could  live  at  Provins;  he 
would  be  within  reach  of  Pierrette ;  he  would  finish  learning 
his  business  by  working  under  the  best  cabinetmaker  in  the 
town,  and  watch  over  the  little  girl. 

Brigaut  made  up  his  mind  at  once.  He  flew  back  to  Paris, 
settled  his  accounts,  collected  his  pass,  his  luggage,  and  his 
tools.  Three  days  later  he  was  working  for  Monsieur  Frap- 
pier,  the  best  carpenter  in  Provins.  Energetic  workmen, 
steady,  and  averse  to  turbulency  and  taverns,  are  rare 
enough  to  make  a  master  glad  to  get  a  young  fellow  like. 
Brigaut.  To  conclude  his  story  on  that  score,  by  the  end  oi: 
a  fortnight  he  was  foreman,  lodging  and  boarding  with  Frap- 
pier,  who  taught  him  arithmetic  and  linear  drawing.  The 
carpenter  lived  in  the  High  Street,  about  a  hundred  yardt' 
from  the  little  oblong  Place,  at  the  end  of  which  stood  the 
Eogrons'  house. 

Brigaut  buried  his  love  in  his  heart,  and  was  not  guilty 
of  the  smallest  indiscretion.  He  got  Madame  Frappier  to 
tell  him  the  history  of  the  Eogrons;  from  her  he  learned 
how  the  old  innkeeper  had  set  to  v/ork  to  get  the  money 
left  by  old  Auffray.  Brigaut  was  fully  informed  as  to  the 
character  of  the  haberdasher  and  his  sister.  One  morning 
he  met  Pierrette  at  market  with  Mademoiselle  Sylvie,  and 
shuddered  to  see  her  with  a  basket  on  her  arm  full  of  pro- 
visions. He  went  to  see  Pierrette  again  at  church  on  Sunday, 
where  the  girl  appeared  in  all  her  best;  there,  for  the  first 
time,  Brigaut  understood  that  Pierrete  was  Mademoiselle 
LoiTain. 


PIERRETTE 


257 


Pierrette  saw  her  friend,  but  she  made  him  a  mysterious 
signal  to  keep  himself  out  of  sight.  There  was  a  world  of 
meaning  in  this  gesture,  as  in  that  by  which,  a  fortnight 
since,  she  had  bidden  him  vanish.  What  a  fortune  he  would 
have  to  make  in  ten  years  to  enable  him  to  marry  the  com- 
panion of  his  childhood,  to  whom  the  Rogrons  would  leave 
a  house,  a  hundred  acres  of  land,  and  twelve  thousand  francs 
a  year,  not  to  mention  their  savings !  The  persevering 
Breton  would  not  tempt  fortune  till  he  had  acquired  the 
knowledge  he  still  lacked.  So  long  as  it  was  theory  alone, 
it  was  all  the  same  whether  he  learned  in  Paris  or  at  Provins, 
and  he  preferred  to  remain  near  Pierrette,  to  whom  he  also 
purposed  to  explain  his  plans  and  the  sort  of  help  she  might 
count  on.  Finally,  he  would  certainly  not  leave  her  till  he 
understood  the  secret  of  the  pallor  which  had  already  dimmed 
the  life  of  the  feature  which  generally  retains  it  longest — 
the  eyes;  till  he  knew  what  caused  the  sufferings  that  gave 
fier  the  look  of  a  girl  bowing  before  the  scythe  of  Death,  and 
about  to  be  cut  down. 

Her  two  pathetic  signals,  which  were  not  false  to  their 
friendship,  but  which  enjoined  the  greatest  caution,  struck 
terror  into  the  lad's  heart.  Evidently  Pierrette  desired  him 
to  wait,  and  not  to  try  to  see  her,  or  there  would  be  danger 
'<md  peril  for  her.  As  she  came  out  of  church  she  gave  him 
ii  look,  and  Brigaut  saw  that  her  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 
The  Breton  would  more  easily  have  squared  the  circle  than 
have  guessed  what  had  happened  in  the  Rogrons'  house  since 
his  arrival. 

It  was  not  without  lively  apprehensions  that  Pierrette  came 
down  from  her  room  that  day  when  Brigaut  had  plunged 
into  her  morning  dream  like  another  dream.  Having  risen 
and  opened  her  window,  Mademoiselle  Rogron  must  have 
heard  the  song  and  its  words — compromising,  no  doubt,  in 
the  ears  of  an  old  maid;  but  Pierrette  knew  nothing  of 
the  causes  that  made  her  cousin  so  alert.    Sylvie  had  good 


258 


PIERRETTE 


reasons  for  getting  up  and  running  to  the  window.  For 
about  a  week  past  strange  secret  events  and  cruel  pangs  of 
feeling  had  agitated  the  principal  figures  in  the  Eogron  salon. 
These  unknown  events,  carefully  concealed  b}^  all  concerned^ 
were  to  fall  on  Pierrette  like  an  icy  avalanche. 

The  realm  of  mysteries,  which  ought  perhaps  to  be  called 
the  foul  places  of  the  human  heart,  lies  at  the  bottom  of  the 
greatest  revolutions,  political,  social,  or  domestic;  but  in 
speaking  of  them  it  may  be  extremely  useful  to  explain  that 
their  algebraical  expression,  though  accurate,  is  not  faithful 
so  far  as  form  is  concerned.  These  deep  calculations  do  not 
express  themselves  so  brutally  as  history  reports  them.  Any 
attempt  to  relate  the  circumlocutions,  the  rhetorical  involu- 
tions, the  long  colloquies,  in  which  the  mind  designedly  dark- 
ens the  light  it  casts,  the  honeyed  words  diluting  the  venom 
of  certain  insinuations,  would  mean  writing  a  book  as  long 
as  the  noble  poem  called  Clarissa  Harlowe. 

Mademoiselle  Habert  and  Mademoiselle  Eogron  were 
equally  desirous  of  marrying ;  but  one  was  ten  yesLTS  younger 
than  the  other,  and  probability  allowed  Celeste  Habert  to 
think  that  her  children  would  inherit  the  Rogrons'  whole  for- 
tune. Sylvie  was  almost  forty-two,  an  age  at  which  marriage 
has  its  risks.  In  confiding  their  ideas  to  each  other  to  se- 
cure mutual  approbation.  Celeste  Habert,  on  a  hint  from 
the  vindictive  Abbe,  had  enlightened  Sylvie  as  to  the  possi- 
bilities of  the  position.  The  Colonel,  a  violent  man,  with  the 
health  of  a  soldier,  a  burly  bachelor  of  forty-five,  would  no 
doubt  act  on  the  moral  of  all  fairy  tales:  they  lived  happy, 
and  had  many  children.  This  form  of  happiness  alarmed 
Sylvie;  she  was  afraid  of  dying — a  fear  which  tortures  un- 
married women  to  the  utmost. 

But  the  Martignac  ministry  was  now  established — the 
second  victory  which  upset  the  Villele  administration. 
Vinet's  party  held  their  head  high  in  Provins.  Vinet,  now 
the  leading  advocate  of  la  Brie,  carried  all  before  him,  to 
use  a  colloquialism.  Vinet  was  a  personage;  the  Liberals 
prophesied  his  advancement;  he  would  certainly  be  a  deputy 


PIERRETTE 


259 


or  public  prosecutor.  As  to  the  Colonel,  he  would  be  Mayor 
of  Provins.  Oh !  to  reign  as  Madame  Garceland  reigned, 
to  be  the  Mayoress !  Sylvie  could  not  resist  this  hope ;  she 
determined  to  consult  a  doctor,  though  it  might  cover  her 
with  ridicule.  The  two  women,  one  triumphant,  and  the 
other  sure  of  having  her  in  leading-strings,  invented  one  of 
those  stratagems  which  women  advised  by  a  priest  are  so 
clever  in  planning.  To  consult  Monsieur  Neraud,  the  Lib- 
eral physician.  Monsieur  Martener's  rival,  would  be  a  blunder. 
Celeste  Habert  proposed  to  Sylvie  to  hide  her  in  a  dressing- 
closet  while  she.  Mademoiselle  Habert,  consulted  Monsieur 
Martener,  who  attended  the  school,  on  her  own  account. 
Whether  he  were  Celeste's  accomplice  or  no,  Martener  told 
his  client  that  there  was  some,  though  very  little,  danger  for 
a  woman  of  thirty.  "But  with  your  constitution,"  he  added, 
"you  have  nothing  to  fear." 

"And  if  a  woman  is  past  forty?"  asked  Mademoiselle 
Celeste  Habert. 

"A  woman  of  forty  who  has  been  married  and  had  children 
need  fear  nothing." 

"But  an  unmarried  woman,  perfectly  well  conducted — for 
example.  Mademoiselle  Eogron?" 

"W ell  conducted !  There  can  be  no  doubt,"  said  Monsieur 
Martener.  "In  such  a  case  the  safe  birth  of  a  child  is  a 
miracle  which  God  certainly  works  sometimes,  but  rarely." 

"And  why?"  asked  Celeste  Habert. 

Whereupon  the  doctor  replied  in  a  terrific  pathological 
description,  explaining  that  the  elasticity  bestowed  by  Nature 
on  the  muscles  and  joints  in  youth  ceased  to  exist  at  a  certain 
age,  particularly  in  women  whose  occupations  had  made 
them  sedentary  for  some  years,  like  Mademoiselle  Eogron. 

"And  so,  after  forty  no  respectable  woman  ought  to 
marry  ?" 

"Or  she  should  wait,"  replied  the  doctor.  "But  then  it  is 
hardly  a  marriage;  it  is  a  partnership.  What  else  could 
it  be?" 

In  short,  it  was  proved  by  this  consultation,  clearly,  scien- 


260 


PIKRRETTB 


tifically,  seriously,  and  rationally,  that  after  the  age  of  forty 
a  virtuous  maiden  should  not  rush  into  matrimony. 

When  Monsieur  Martener  had  left,  Mademoiselle  Celeste 
Habert  found  Mademoiselle  Eogron  green  and  yellow,  her  eyes 
dilated, — in  fact,  in  a  frightful  state. 

"Then  you  truly  love  the  Colonel?"  said  she.     ~  » 

"I  still  hoped,''  said  the  old  maid. 

"Well,  then,  wait,"  said  Mademoiselle  Habert,  who  knew 
that  time  would  be  avenged  on  the  Colonel. 

The  morality  of  this  marriage  was  also  doubtful.  Sylvie 
went  to  sound  her  conscience  in  the  confessional.  The  stem 
director  expounded  the  views  of  the  Church,  which  regards 
marriage  only  as  a  means  of  propagating  the  race,  reprobates 
second  marriages,  and  scorns  passions  that  have  no  social 
aim.  Sylvie  Eogron's  perplexity  was  great.  These  mental 
struggles  gave  strange  force  to  her  passion,  and  lent  it  the 
unaccountable  charm  which  forbidden  joys  have  always  had 
for  women  since  the  time  of  Eve. 

Mademoiselle  Eogron's  disturbed  state  could  not  escape  the 
lawyer's  keen  eye.  One  evening,  after  cards,  Yinet  went  up 
io  his  dear  friend  Sylvie,  took  her  hand,  and  led  her  to  sit 
down  with  him  on  one  of  the  sofas. 

"Something  ails  you,"  he  said  in  her  ear. 

She  gloomily  bent  her  head.  The  pleader  let  Eogron  leave 
the  room,  sat  alone  with  the  old  maid,  and  got  her  to  mske 
a  clean  breast  of  it. 

"Well  played.  Abbe!  But  you  have  played  my  game  for 
me,"  he  said  to  himself  after  hearing  of  all  the  private  con- 
sultations Sylvie  had  held,  of  which  the  last  was  the  most 
alarming. 

This  sly  legal  fox  was  even  more  /errible  in  his  explana- 
tions than  the  doctor  had  been ;  he  advised  the  marriage,  but 
only  ten  years  hence  for  greater  safety.  The  law}^er  vowed 
that  all  the  Eogron  fortune  should  be  Bathilde's.  He  rubbed 
his  hands,  and  his  very  face  grew  sharper  as  he  ran  after 
Madame  and  Mademoiselle  de  Chargebceuf,  whom  he  had  left 
to  start  homewards  with  their  servant  armed  with  a  lantern. 


PIERRETTE  261 


The  ijifluence  exerted  by  Monsieur  Habert,  the  physician 
of  the  soul,  was  entirely  counteracted  by  Vinet,  the  physician 
of  the  purse.  Rogron  was  by  no  means  devout,  so  the  man  of 
the  Church  and  the  man  of  the  Law,  the  two  black  gowns, 
pulled  him  opposite  ways.  When  he  heard  of  the  victory 
carried  off  by  Mademoiselle  Habert,  who  hoped  to  marry 
Rogron,  over  Sylvie,  hanging  between  the  fear  of  death  and 
the  joy  of  becoming  a  baroness,  Vinet  perceived  the  possi- 
bility of  removing  the  Colonel  from  the  scene  of  battle.  He 
knew  Rogron  well  enough  to  find  some  means  of  making  him 
marry  the  fair  Bathilde.  Rogron  had  not  been  able  to  resist 
the  blandishments  of  Mademoiselle  de  Chargeboeuf;  Vinet 
knew  that  the  first  time  Rogron  should  be  alone  with  Bathilde 
and  himself  their  engagement  would  be  settled.  Rogron  had 
come  to  the  point  of  staring  at  Mademoiselle  Habert,  so  shy 
was  he  of  looking  at  Bathilde. 

Vinet  had  just  seen  how  much  Sylvie  was  in  love  with  the 
Colonel.  He  understood  the  depth  of  such  a  passion  in  an 
old  maid,  no  less  eaten  up  by  bigotry,  and  he  soon  hit  on  a 
plan  for  ruining  at  one  blow  both  Pierrette  and  the  Colonel, 
getting  rid  of  one  by  means  of  the  other. 

Next  morning,  on  coming  out  of  Court,  he  met  the  Colonel 
and  Rogron  walking  together,  their  daily  habit. 

When  these  three  men  were  seen  together,  their  conjunction 
always  made  the  town  talk.  This  triumvirate,  held  in  horror 
by  the  Sous-prefet,  the  Bench,  and  the  Tiphaine  partisans, 
made  a  triad  of  which  the  Liberals  of  Provins  were  proud. 
Vinet  edited  the  Courrier  single-handed ;  he  was  the  head  of 
the  party;  the  Colonel,  the  responsible  manager  of  the  paper, 
was  its  arm;  Rogron,  with  his  money,  formed  the  sinews; 
he  was 'considered  as  the  link  between  the  managing  com- 
mittee at  Provins  and  the  managing  committee  in  Paris.  To 
hear  the  Tiphaines,  these  three  men  were  always  plotting 
something  against  the  Government,  while  the  Liberals  ad- 
mired them  as  defenders  of  the  people.  When  the  lawyer 
saw  Rogron  returning  to  the  Square,  brought  homewards 
by  the  dinner-hour,  he  took  the  Colonel's  arm  and  hindered  • 
him  from  accompanying  the  ex-haberdasher. 


262 


PIERRETTBJ 


"Xiook  here,  Colonel/'  said  he,  ^^I  am  going  to  take  a 
great  weight  off  your  shoulders.  Yon  can  do  better  than 
msLTTj  Sylvie;  if  you  go  to  work  the  right  way,  in  two  years' 
time  you  may  marry  little  Pierrette  Lorrain/' 

And  he  told  him  the  results  of  the  Jesuit's  manoeuvring. 

"What  a  clever  stroke — and  reaching  so  far!"  said  the 
Colonel. 

"Colonel,"  said  Vinet  gravely,  "Pierrette  is.  a  charming 
creature;  you  may  be  happy  for  the  rest  of  your  days.  You 
have  such  splendid  health,  that  such  a  match  would  not, 
for  you,  have  the  usual  drawbacks  of  an  ill-assorted  marriage ; 
still,  do  not  imagine  that  this  exchange  of  a  terrible  life 
for  a  pleasant  one  will  be  easy  to  effect.  To  convert  your 
lady-love  into  your  confidante  is  a  manoeuvre  as  dangerous  as, 
in  your  profession,  it  is  to  cross  a  river  under  the  enemy's 
fire.  Keen  as  you  are  as  a  cavalry  officer,  you  must  study  the 
])Osition,  and  carry  out  your  tactics  with  the  superior  skill 
which  has  won  us  our  present  position.  If  I  should  one  day 
public  prosecutor,  you  may  command  the  department. 
A-h!  if  only  you  had  a  vote,  we  should  be  further  on  our 
way.  I  might  have  bought  the  votes  of  those  two  officials 
by  indemnifying  them  for  the  loss  of  their  places,  and  we 
'.should  have  had  a  majority.  I  should  be  sitting  by  Dupin, 
Casimir  Perier,  and  " 

The  Colonel  had  for  some  time  past  been  thinking  of  Pier- 
rette, but  he  hid  the  thought  with  deep  dissimulation;  his 
roughness  to  Pierrette  was  only  on  the  surface.  The  child 
could  not  imagine  why  the  man  who  called  himself  her 
father's  old  comrade  treated  her  so  ill,  when,  if  he  met  her 
alone,  he  put  his  hand  under  her  chin  and  gave  her  a  fatherly 
caress.  Ever  since  Vinet  had  confided  to  him  Mademoiselle 
Sylvie's  terror  of  marriage,  Gouraud  had  sought  opportunities 
of  seeing  Pierrette  alone,  and  then  the  rough  officer  was 
as  mild  as  a  cat ;  he  would  tell  her  how  brave  her  father  was, 
and  say  what  a  misfortune  for  her  his  death  had  been. 

A  few  days  before  Brigaut's  arrival,  Sylvie  had  found 
Gouraud  and  Pierrette  together.    Jealousy  had  then  entered 


PIEKRETTE 


263 


into  her  soul  with  monastic  vehemence.  Jealousy,  which  is 
above  all  passions  credulous  and  suspicious,  is  also  that  in 
which  fancy  has  most  power;  but  it  does  not  lend  wit,  it 
takes  it  away;  and  in  Sylvie  jealousy  gave  birth  to  very 
strange  ideas.  She  conceived  that  the  man  who  had  sung 
the  words  "Mistress  Bride"  to  Pierrette  must  be  the  Colonel ; 
and  Sylvie  thought  she  had  reason  to  ascribe  this  serenade 
to  the  Colonel,  because  during  the  last  week  Gouraud's  man- 
ner seemed  to  have  undergone  a  change.  This  soldier  was 
the  only  man  who,,  in  the  solitude  in  which  she  had  lived, 
had  ever  troubled  himself  about  her;  hence  she  watched  him 
with  all  her  eyes,  all  her  understanding;  and  by  dint  of  in- 
dulging in  hopes  alternately  flourishing  and  blighted,  she 
had  given  them  so  much  scope  that  they  produced  the  effect 
on  her  of  a  moral  mirage.  To  use  a  fine  but  vulgar  expres- 
sion, by  dint  of  looking  she  often  saw  nothing.  By  turns  she 
rejected  and  struggled  victoriously  against  the  notion  of 
this  chimerical  rivalry.  She  instituted  comparisons  between 
herself  and  Pierrette;  she  was  forty,  and  her  hair  was  gray; 
Pierrette  was  a  deliciously  white  little  girl,  with  eyes  tender 
enough  to  bring  warmth  to  a  dead  heart.  She  had  heard  it 
said  that  men  of  fifty  were  fond  of' little  girls  like  Pierrette. 

Before  the  Colonel  had  sown  his  wild  oats  and  frequented 
the  Eogrons'  drawing-room,  Sylvie  had  heard  at  the  Ti- 
phaines'  parties  strange  reports  of  Gouraud  and  his  doings. 
Old  maids  in  love  have  the  exaggerated  Platonic  notions 
which  girls  of  twenty  are  apt  to  profess ;  they  have  never  lost 
the  hard-and-fast  ideas  which  cling  to  all  who  have  no  ex- 
perience of  life,  nor  learnt  how  social  forces  modify,  erode, 
and  coerce  such  fine  and  lofty  notions.  To  Sylvie  the  idea 
of  being  deceived  by  her  Colonel  was  a  thought  that  ham- 
mered at  her  brain. 

So  from  the  hour,  that  morning,  which  every  celibate 
spends  in  bed  between  waking  and  rising,  the  old  maid  had 
thought  of  nothing  but  herself  and  Pierrette,  and  the  song 
which  had  aroused  her  by  the  words,  "Mistress  Bride."  Like 
a  simpleton,  instead  of  peeping  at  the  lover  through  the  Vene- 


264 


PIERRETTE 


tian  shutters,  she  had  opened  her  window,  without  reflecting 
that  Pierrette  would  hear  her.  If  she  had  but  had  the  com- 
mon wit  of  a  spy,  she  would  have  seen  Brigautj  and  the  fateful 
drama  then  begun  would  not  have  taken  place. 

Pierrette,  weak  as  she  was,  removed  the  wooden  bars  which 
fastened  the  kitchen  shutters,  opened  the  shutters,  and  hooked 
them  back,  then  she  opened  tlie  passage  door  leading  into  the 
garden.  She  took  the  various  brooms  needed  for  sweeping 
the  carpet,  the  dining-room  floor,  the  passage,  the  stairs,  in 
short,  for  cleaning  everything  with  such  care  and  exactitude 
as  no  servant,  not  even  a  Dutch  one,  would  give  to  her  work ; 
she  hated  the  least  reproof.  To  her,  happiness  consisted  in 
seeing  Sylvie's  little  blue  eyes,  colorless  and  cold,  with  a  look 
— not  indeed  of  satisfaction,  that  they  never  wore — only  calm 
when  she  had  examined  everything  with  the  owner's  eye,  the 
inscrutable  glance  which  sees  what  escapes  the  keenest  ob- 
server. 

By  the  time  Pierrette  returned  to  the  kitchen  her  skin 
was  moist;  then  she  put  everything  in  order,  lighted  the 
stove  so  as  to  have  live  charcoal,  made  the  fire  in  her  cousins' 
rooms,  and  put  hot  water  for  their  toilet,  though  she  had 
none  for  hers.  She  laid  "the  table  for  breakfast  and  lighted 
the  dining-room  stove.  For  all  these  various  tasl^s  she  had  to 
go  to  the  cellar  to  fetch  brushwood,  leaving  a  cool  place 
to  go  to  a  hot  one,  or  a  hot  place  to  go  into  the  cold  and 
damp.  These  sudden  changes,  made  with  the  reckless  haste 
of  3^outh,  merely  to  avoid  a  hard  word,  or  to  obey  some  order, 
aggravated  the  state  of  her  health  beyond  remedy.  Pierrette 
did  not  know  that  she  was  ill.  Still  she  felt  the  beginnings 
of  sufferings;  she  had  strange  longings,  and  hid  them;  a 
passion  for  raw  salad,  which  she  devoured  in  secret.  The 
innocent  child  had  no  idea  that  this  state  meant  serious  dis- 
ease, and  needed  the  greatest  care.  Before  Brigaut's  arrival, 
if  Neraud,  who  might  accuse  himself  of  her  grandmother's 
death,  had  revealed  this  mortal  peril  to  the  little  girl,  she 
would  have  smiled ;  she  found  life  too  bitter  not  to  smile  at 
death.    But  within  these  last  few  minutes,  she,  who  added 


PIERHETTB 


263 


to  her  physical  ailments  the  Breton  home-sickness — a  moral 
sickness  so  well  known,  that  colonels  of  regiments  reckon  on 
it  in  the  Bretons  who  serve  in  their  regiments — she  loved 
Provins.  The  sight  of  that  gold-colored  flower,  that  song, 
the  presence  of  the  friend  of  her  childhood,  had  revived  her 
as  a  plant  long  deprived  of  water  recovers  after  hours  of 
rain.  She  wanted  to  live;  she  did  not  believe  that  she  had 
suffered ! 

She  timidly  stole  into  Sylvie's  room,  lighted  the  lire,  left 
the  hot-water  pot,  spoke  a  few  words,  went  to  awake  her 
guardian,  and  then  ran  downstairs  to  take  in  the  milk,  the 
bread,  and  the  other  provisions  supplied  by  the  tradesmen. 
She  stood  for  some  time  on  the  doorstep,  hoping  that  Brigaut 
would  have  the  wit  to  return ;  but  Brigaut  was  already  on  the 
road  to  Paris,  She  had  dusted  the  drawing-room  and  was 
busy  in  the  kitchen,  when  she  heard  her  cousin  Sylvie  coming 
downstairs.  Mademoiselle  Eogron  made  her  appearance  in 
a  Carmelite  gray  silk  dressing-gown,  on  her  head  a  tulle  cap 
decorated  with  bows,  her  false  curls  put  on  askew,  her  night- 
dress showing  above  the  wrapper,  her  feet  slipshod  in  her 
slippers.  She  inspected  everything,  and  came  to  her  little 
cousin,  who  was  waiting  to  know  what  they  would  have  for 
breakfast. 

'^So  there  you  are.  Miss  Ladylove !"  said  Sylvie  to  Pier- 
rette, in  a  half-merry,  half-mocking  tone. 
"I  beg  your  pardon,  cousin?'^ 

"You  crept  into  my  room  like  a  sneak  and  out  again  in 
the  same  way;  but  you  must  have  known  that  I  should  have 
something  to  say  to  you." 

"To  me?" 

"You  have  had  a  serenade  this  morning  like  a  princess, 
neither  more  nor  less." 

"A  serenade?"  exclaimed  Pierrette. 

"A  serenade?"  echoed  Sylvie,  mimicking  her.  "And  you 
have  a  lover." 

"Cousin,  what  do  you  mean  by  a  lover?"  Sylvie  evaded 
the  question,  and  said: 


2m 


PIERRETTE) 


"Do  you  dare  to  say,  mademoiselle,  that  a  man  did  not 
come  under  our  windows  and  talk  to  you  of  marriage !" 

Persecution  had  taught  Pierrette  the  cunning  indispensable 
to  slaves;  she  boldly  replied,  "I  do  not  know  what  you 
mean  " 

"Dog  "  added  the  old  maid  in  vinegar  tones. 

"Cousin,"  said  Pierrette  humbly. 

"And  you  did  not  get  up,  I  suppose,  and  did  not  go  bare=  > 
foot  to  your  window?    Enough  to  give  you  some  bad  illness. 
Well,  catch  it,  and  serve  you  right ! — And  I  suppose  you  did 
not  talk  to  your  lover?" 

"No,  cousin." 

"I  knew  you  had  a  great  many  faults,  but  I  did  not  know 
you  told  lies.  Think  of  what  you  are  about,  mademoiselle. 
You  will  have  to  tell  your  cousin  Denis  and  me  all  about 
the  scene  of  this  morning,  and  explain  it  too ;  otherwise  your 
guardian  will  have  to  take  strong  measures." 

The  old  maid,  devoured  by  jealousy  and  curiosity,  was  try- 
ing intimidation.  Pierrette  did  as  all  people  must  who  are 
enduring  beyond  their  strength — she  kept  silence.  Silence 
is  to  all  creatures  thus  attacked  the  only  means  of  salvation; 
it  fatigues  the  Cossack  charges  of  the  envious,  the  enemy's 
savage  rushes;  it  results  in  a  crushing  and  complete  victory. 
What  is  more  complete  than  silence?  It  is  final.  Is  it  not 
one  of  the  modes  of  the  Infinite  ? 

Sylvie  looked  stealthily  at  Pierrette.  The  child  colored; 
but  instead  of  flushing  all  over,  the  red  lay  in  patches  on 
her  cheeks,  in  burning  spots  of  symptomatic  hue.  On  seeing 
these  signals  of  ill-health,  a  mother  would  at  once  have 
changed  her  note;  she  would  have  taken  the  child  on  her 
knee,  have  questioned  her,  have  acquired  long  since  a  thousand 
proofs  of  Pierrette's  perfect  and  beautiful  innocence,  have' 
suspected  her  weakness,  and  understood  that  the  blood  and 
humors  diverted  from  their  course  were  thrown  back  on  the 
lungs  after  disturbing  the  digestive  functions.  Those  elo- 
quent scarlet  patches  would  have  warned  her  of  imminent 
and  mortal  danger.    But  an  old  maid  to  whom  the  feelings 


PIERRETTE 


26*1 


that  guard  the  family,  the  needs  of  childhood,  the  care  re- 
quired in  early  womanhood  were  all  unknown,  could  have 
none  of  the  indulgence  and  the  pity  that  are  inspired  by  the 
thousand  incidents  of  married  and  maternal  life.  The  suf- 
ferings of  misery,  instead  of  softening  her  heart,  had  made 
it  callous. 

"She  blushes — she  has  done  wrong!''  thought  Sylvie.  So 
Pierrette's  silence  received  the  worst  construction. 

"Pierrette,"  said  she,  "before  your  cousin  Denis  comes  down 
we  will  have  a  little  talk. — Come,"  she  went  on  in  a  milder 
tone.  "Shut  the  door  to  the  street.  If  any  one  comes,  they 
will  ring;  we  shall  hear." 

In  spite  of  the  damp  fog  rising  from  the  river,  Sylvie  led 
Pierrette  along  the  graveled  path  that  zigzagged  between 
the  grass-plots,  to  the  edge  of  the  terrace  built  in  a  so-called 
picturesque  style  of  broken  rockwork  planted  with  flags  and 
other  water-plants.  The  old  cousin  now  changed  her  tactics ; 
she  would  try  to  catch  Pierrette  by  gentleness.  The  hyena 
would  play  the  cat. 

"Pierrette,"  said  she,  "you  are  no  longer  a  child ;  you  will 
soon  set  foot  in  your  fifteenth  year,  and  it  would  not  be  at  all 
astonishing  if  you  had  a  lover." 

"But,  cousin,"  said  Pierrette,  raising  her  eyes  of  angelic 
sweetness  to  her  cousin's  cold,  sour  face,  for  Sylvie  had  put 
on  her  saleswoman  expression,  "what  is  a  lover?" 

It  was  impossible  to  Sylvie  to  define  to  her  brother's  ward 
with  accuracy  and  decency  what  she  meant  by  a  lover;  in- 
stead of  regarding  the  question  as  the  result  of  adorable  inno- 
cence, she  treated  it  as  mendacious. 

"A  lover,  Pierrette,  is  a  man  who  loves  you  and  wishes  to 
marry  you." 

"Ah !"  said  Pierrette.  "In  Brittany  when  two  persons  are 
agreed,  we  call  the  young  man  a  suitor !" 

"Well,  understand  that  there  is  not  the  smallest  harm 
in  confessing  your  feeling  for  a  man,  my  child.  The  harm 
is  in  secrecy.  Have  you,  do  you  think,  taken  the  fancy  of 
any  man  who  comes  here?" 

"I  do  not  think  so." 


26B 


PIBRRETlTi] 


**You  do  not  love  one  of  tliem?'* 
"No  one." 
''Quite  sure?" 
''Quite  sure." 

"Look  me  in  the  face,  Pierrette.'* 
Pierrette  looked  at  her  cousin. 

"And  yet  a  man  spoke  to  you  from  the  Square  this  mom- 
ing?" 

Pierrette  looked  down. 

"You  went  to  your  window,  you  opened  it,,  and  spoke  to 
him." 

"No,  cousin;  I  wanted  to  see  what  the  weather  was  like, 
and  I  saw  a  countryman  in  the  Square." 

"Pierrette,  since  your  first  Communion  you  have  improved 
greatly,  you  are  obedient  and  pious,  you  love  your  relations 
and  God;  I  am  pleased  with  you,  but  I  never  have  told  you 
so  for  fear  of  inflaming  your  pride." 

The  horrible  woman  mistook  the  dejection,  the  submission, 
the  silence  of  wretchedness  for  virtues !  One  of  the  sweetest 
things  that  brings  comfort  to  the  sufferer,  to  martyrs,  to 
artists,  in  the  midst  of  the  Divine  wrath  roused  in  them  by 
envy  and  hatred,  is  to  meet  with  praise  from  some  quarter 
whence  they  have  always  had  blame  and  bad  faith.  So  Pier- 
rette looked:  up  at  her  cousin  with  attentive  eyes,  and  felt 
ready  to  forgive  her  all  the  pain  she  had  caused  her. 

'^But  if  it  is  all  mere  hypocrisy,  if  I  am  to  find  in  you  a 
serpent  I  have  cherished  in  my  bosom,  you  would  be  an  in- 
famous, a  horrible  creature !" 

"I  do  not  think  I  have  anything  to  blame  myself  for,"  said 
Pierrette,  feeling  a  dreadful  pang  at  her  heart  on  this  sudden 
transition  from  unexpected  praise  to  the  terrible  accent  of 
the  hyena. 

"You  know  that  lying  is  a  mortal  sin?" 
"Yes,  cousin." 

"Well,  then,  you  stand  before  God!"  said  the  old  maid, 
pointing  with  a  solemn  gesture  to  the  gardens  and  the  sky. 
"Swear  to  me  that  you  do  not  know  that  countryman." 


PIBRRF/rTHi 


26'.) 


"I  will  not  swear/'  said  Pierrette. 

'^Ah !  he  was  not  a  countryman  !    Little  viper !" 

Pierrette  fled  across  the  garden  like  a.  startled  fawn,  ap- 
palled by  this  moral  dilemma.  Her  cousin  called  to  her  in 
an  awful  voice. 

''The  bell,"  she  replied. 

''What  a  sly  little  wretch !"  said  Sylvie  to  herself.  ''She 
has  a  perverse  nature,  and  I  am  sure  now  that  the  little  ser- 
pent has  twisted  herself  round  the  Colonel.  She  has  heard 
us  say  that  he  is  a  Baron.  A  Baroness,  indeed !  Little  fool ! 
Oh !  I  will  be  rid  of  her  by  placing  her  as  an  apprentice,  and 
pretty  soon  too !" 

Sylvie  was  so  lost  in  thought  that  she  did  not  see  her 
brother  coming  down  the  walk  and  contemplating  the  mischief 
done  by  the  frost  to  his  dahlias. 

"Well,  Sylvie,  what  are  you  thinking  about  there?  I 
thought  you  were  looking  at  the  fishes ;  sometimes  they  jum  (> 
out  of  the  water." 

'^No,"  said  she. 

"Well,  how  did  you  sleep?"  and  he  proceeded  to  tell  her 
his  dreams  of  the  past  night.  "Do  not  you  think  that  my  face 
looks  patchy?"  a  favorite  word  with  the  Rogrons.  Since 
Rogron  had  loved — nay,  we  will  not  profane  the  word — had 
desired  Mademoiselle  de  Chargeboeuf,  he  had  been  very 
anxious  about  his  appearance  and  himself. 

At  this  moment  Pierrette  came  down  the  steps  and  called 
to  them  that  breakfast  was  ready.  On  seeing  her  little 
cousin,  Sylvie's  complexion  turned  green  and  3^ellow;  all  her 
bile  rose.  She  examined  the  passage,  and  said  that  Pierrette 
ought  to  have  polished  it  with  foot-brushes. 

"I  will  polish  it  if  you  wish,"  replied  the  angel,  not  know- 
ing how  injurious  this  form  of  labor  is  to  a  young  girl. 

The  dining-room  was  above  blame.  Sylvie  sat  down,  and 
all  through -breakfast  affected  to  want  things  that  she  never 
would  have  thought  of  in  a  calmer  frame  of  mind,  seeking 
for  them  simply  to  make  Pierrette  rise  to  fetch  them,  and 
alwa.ys  just  as  the  poor  child  was  beginning  to  eat.   But  mere 


270 


PIERRETTE 


nagging  was  not  enough ;  she  sought  some  subject  for  fault- 
finding, and  fumed  with  internal  rage  at  finding  none.  If 
they  had  been  eating  eggs,  she  would  certainly  have  com- 
plained of  the  boiling  of  hers.  She  hardly  replied  to  her 
brother's  silly  talk,  and  yet  she  looked  only  at  him ;  her  eyes 
avoided  Pierrette,  who  was  keenly  aware  of  this  behavior. 

Pierrette  brought  in  the  coffee  for  her  cousins  in  a  large 
silver  cup,  which  served  to  heat  the  milk  in,  mixed  with 
^cream,  in  a  saucepan  of  hot  water.  The  brother  and  sister 
then  added,  to  their  taste,  the  black  coffee  which  was  made 
by  Sylvie.  When  she  had  carefully  prepared  this  dainty, 
Sylvie  detected  in  it  a  faint  cloud  of  coffee  dust;  she  care- 
fully skimmed  it  off  the  tawny  mixture  and  looked  at  it, 
leaning  over  it  to  examine  it  more  minutely.  Then  the 
storm  burst. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  asked  Rogron. 

"The  matter!  Miss,  here,  has  put  ashes  in  my  coffee. 
Ashes  in  coffee  are  so  nice !  .  .  .  Well,  well !  It  is  not 
astonishing;  no  one  can  do  two  things  at  once.  Much  she 
was  thinking  of  the  coffee!  A  blackbird  might  have  flown 
through  the  kitchen,  and  she  would  not  have  heeded  it  this 
morning !  How  should  she  see  the  ashes  flying  ?  And  then — • 
only  her  cousin's ! — Much  she  cares  about  it !" 

She  went  on  in  this  way,  while  she  elaborately  laid  on 
the  edge  of  her  plate  some  fine  coffee  that  had  passed  through 
the  filter,  mixed  with  some  grains  of  sugar  that  had  not 
melted. 

"But,  cousin,  that  is  coffee,"  said  Pierrette. 

"So  I  am  a  liar  now?"  exclaimed  Sylvie,  looking  at  Pier- 
rette, and  scorching  her  by  a  fearful  flash  that  her  eyes  could 
dart  when  she  was  angry. 

These  temperaments,  which  passion  has  never  exhausted, 
have  at  command  a  great  supply  of  the  vital  fluid.  This 
phenomenon  of  extreme  brightness  in  her  eye  uhder  the  in- 
fluence of  rage  was  all  the  more  confirmed  in  MademoisellG 
Rogron  because  formerly,  in  her  shop,  she  had  had  occasion 
to  try  the  power  of  her  gaze  by  opening  her  eyes  enormously 
wide,  always  to  fill  her  dependants  with  salutary  1  error. 


PIERRETTE 


271 


'1  will  teach  yon  to  giro  me  the  lie/'  she  went  on;  ''you, 
who  deserve  to  be  sent  away  from  table  to  feed  by  yourself 
in  the  kitchen.'^ 

"What  is  the  matter  with  yon  both  ?"  cried  Rogron.  "You 
are  as  cross  as  two  sticks  this  morning." 

"Oh,  my  lady  knows  what  I  mean !  I  am  giving  her  time 
to  make  up  her  mind  before  speaking  to  you  about  it,  for  I 
am  much  kinder  to  her  than  she  deserves." 

Pierrette  looked  through  the  window  out  on  to  the  Square, 
so  as  not  to  meet  her  cousin's  eyes,  which  frightened  her. 

"She  pays  no  more  heed  than  if  I  were  talking  to  this 
sugar-basin !  And  she  has  sharp  ears  too ;  she  can  speak 
from  the  top  of  the  house  to  answer  some  one  below.  .  .  . 
She  is  that  perverse!  Your  ward  is  aggravating  beyond 
words,  and  you  need  look  for  nothing  good  from  her ;  do  you 
hear  me,  Rogron?" 

"What  has  she  done  that  is  so  wicked  ?"  asked  her  brother. 

"At  her  age  too!  It  is  beginning  young!"  cried  the  old 
maid  in  a  fury. 

Pierrette  rose  to  clear  away,  just  to  keep  herself  in  counte- 
nance; she  did  not  know  which  way  to  look.  Though  such 
language  was  nothing  new  to  her,  she  never  could  get  used  to 
it.  Her  cousin's  rage  made  her  feel  as  though  she  had  com- 
mitted some  crime.  She  wondered  what  her  rage  would  be 
if  she  knew  of  Brigaut's  escapade.  Perhaps  they  would  keep 
Brigaut  away.  All  the  thousand  ideas  of  a  slave  crowded 
on  her  at  once,  thoughts  swift  and  deep,  and  she  resolved  to 
resist  by  absolute  silence  as  to  an  incident  in  which  her  con- 
science could  see  no  evil. 

She  had  to  endure  words  so  cruel,  so  harsh,  insinuations 
so  insulting,  that  on  her  return  to  the  kitchen  she  was  seized 
with  cramp  in  the  stomach  and  a  violent  attack  of  sickness. 
She  dared  not  complain ;  she  was  not  sure  of  getting  any  care. 
She  turned  pale  and  faint,  said  that  she  felt  ill,  and  went 
up  to  bed,  clinging  to  the  banisters  at  every  step,  and  believ- 
ing that  her  last  hour  had  come.  "Poor  Brigaut !"  thought 
she. 


272 


PIEIiRKTTE 


^^She  is  ill/'  said  Eogron. 

*^She  ill!  It  is  all  megrims/'  said  Sylvie,  loud  enough 
to  be  overheard.  "She  was  not  ill  this  morning,  I  can  tell 
you !" 

This  last  shot  was  too  much  for  Pierrette,  who  crept  to 
bed  in  tears,  praying  to  God  to  remove  her  from  this  world. 

For  a  month  past  Rogron  had  no  longer  carried  the  Coti- 
stitutionnel  to  Gouraud;  the  Colonel  obsequiously  came  to 
fetch  the  newspaper,  to  make  talk,  and  take  Rogron  out  when 
the  weather  was  fine.  Sylvie,  sure  of  seeing  the  Colonel, 
and  being  able  to  question  him,  dressed  herself  coquettishly. 
The  old  maid  thought  she  achieved  this  by  putting  on  a 
green  gown,  a  little  yellow  cashmere  shawl  bordered  with 
red,  and  a  white  bonnet  with  meagre  gray  feathers.  At  the 
hour  when  the  Colonel  was  due,  she  settled  herself  in  the 
drawing-room  with  her  brother,  making  him  keep  on  his 
dressing-gown  and  slippers. 

"It  is  a  fine  morning,  Colonel/'  said  Rogron,  hearing 
Gouraud's  heavy  step;  "but  I  am  not  dressed,  my  sister 
perhaps  wanted  to  go  out,  she  left  me  to  mind  the  house; 
wait  for  me." 

Rogron  went  oif,  leaving  Sylvie  with  the  Colonel. 

"Where  are  you  going?  you  are  dressed  like  a  goddess," 
observed  Gouraud,  seeing  a  certain  solemnity  of  expression 
on  the  old  maid's  battered  face. 

"Yes,  I  was  going  out ;  but  as  the  child  is  not  well,  I  must 
stay  at  home." 

"What  is  the  matter  with  her?" 

"I  do  not  know;  she  asked  to  go  to  bed." 

Gouraud's  cautiousness,  not  to  say  his  distrust,  was  con- 
stantly on  the  alert  as  a  result  of  his  collusion  with  Vinet 
The  lawyer  evidently  had  the  best  of  it.  He  edited  the  paper, 
he  ruled  it  as  a  master,  and  applied  the  profits  to  the  editing; 
whereas  the  Colonel,  the  responsible  stalking-horse,  got  little 
enough.  Who  was  to  be  the  depute?  Vinet.  Who  the 
great  electioneer?  Vinet.  Who  was  always  consulted? 
Vinet. 


PIBRRBTOE 


278 


Then  he  knew,  at  least  as  well  as  Vinet,  the  extent  and 
depth  of  the  passion  consuming  Rogron  for  the  fair  Bathilde 
de  Chargeboeuf.  This  passion  was  becoming  a  mania,  as 
all  the  lowest  passions  of  men  do.  Bathilde's  voice  made  the 
old  bachelor  thrill.  Eogron,  thinking  only  of  his  desire,  con- 
cealed it ;  he  dared  not  hope  for  such  a  match.  The  Colonel, 
to  sound  him,  had  told  Rogron  that  he  was  about  to  propose 
for  Bathilde's  hand;  Rogron  had  turned  pale  at  the  mere 
thought  of  such  a  formidable  rival;  he  had  become  cold  to 
Gouraud,  almost  hostile.  Thus  Vinet  in  every  way  ruled  the 
roast,  while  he,  the  Colonel,  was  tied  to  the  house  only  by 
the  doubtful  bond  of  a  love  which,  on  his  part,  was  but 
feigned,  and  on  Sylvie's  as  yet  unconfessed.  When  the  lawyer 
had  divulged  the  priest's  manoeuvre  and  advised  him  to  thro\^ 
over  Sylvie  and  pay  his  addresses  to  Pierrette,  Vinet  had 
humored  his  inclinations;  still,  as  the  Colonel  analyzed  the 
true  purport  of  this  suggestion,  and  examined  the  ground 
on  which  he  stood,  he  fancied  he  could  discern  in  his  ally 
some  hope  of  making  mischief  between  him  and  Sylvie,  and 
taking  advantage  of  the  old  maid's  fears  to  make  the  whole 
of  Rogron's  fortune  fall  into  Mademoiselle  de  Chargeboeuf's 
hands. 

Hence,  when  Rogron  left  him  alone  with  Sylvie,  the  Colo- 
nel's acumen  seized  on  the  slight  indications  which  betrayed 
some  uneasiness  in  Sylvie.  He  saw  that  she  had  planned  to 
be  under  arms  and  alone  with  him  for  a  minute.  Gouraud, 
who  already  vehemently  suspected  Vinet  of  playing  him 
some  malignant  trick,  ascribed  this  conference  to  a  secret 
suggestion  of  this  legal  ape;  he  put  himself  on  his  guard, 
as  v/hen  he  had  been  making  a  reconnaissance  in  the  enemy's 
country,  keeping  an  eye  on  the  whole  prospect,  listening  for 
the  least  sound,  his  mind  alert,  his  hand  on  his  weapon.  It 
was  the  Colonel's  weakness  never  to  believe  a  word  said  by 
a  woman;  and  when  the  old  maid  spoke  of  Pierrette,  and 
said  she  was  in  bed  at  midday,  he  concluded  that  Sylvie  had 
simply  put  her  in  disgrace  in  her  room  out  of  jealousy. 


'^The  child  is  growing  very  pretty,"  said  he,  in  an  indiffer 
ent  tone. 

"Yes,  she  will  be  pretty/'  replied  Mademoiselle  Rogron. 

"You  ought  now  to  send  her  to  a  shop  in  Paris/'  added 
the  Colonel.  "She  would  make  a  fortune.  They  look  out 
for  very  pretty  girls  now  in  the  milliners'  shops." 

"Is  that  really  your  advice?"  asked  Sylvie,  in  an  anxious 
voice. 

"Good !  I  have  hit  it !"  thought  the  Colonel.  "Vinet's  ad- 
vice that  Pierrette  and  I  should  marry  by-and-by  was  only 
intended  to  place  me  in  this  old  witch's  black-books. — Why/' 
he  said  aloud,  "what  do  you  expect  to  do  v/ith  her  ?  Do  you 
not  see  a  perfectly  lovely  girl,  Bathilde  de  Chargeboeuf,  of 
noble  birth,  well  connected,  and  left  to  become  an  old  maid. 
No  one  will  have  anything  to  say  to  her.  Pierrette  has  noth- 
ing; she  will  never  marry.  Do  you  suppose  that  youth  and 
beauty  have  any  attraction  for  me,  for  instance? — for  me, 
who,  as  Captain  of  Artillery  in  the  Imperial  Guard  from  the 
first  day  when  the  Emperor  had  a  guard,  have  had  my  feet  in 
every  capital  in  Europe,  and  known  the  prettiest  women  in 
them  all? — Youth  and  beauty — they  are  deuced  common 
and  silly.    Don't  talk  of  them  to  me !" 

"At  eight-and-forty,"  he  went  on,  adding  to  his  age,  "when 
a  man  has  gone  through  the  retreat  from  Moscow  and  the 
dreadful  campaign  in  France,  his  loins  are  a  bit  weary;  I 
am  an  old  fellow.  ISTow,  a  wife  like  you  would  cosset  me 
and  take  care  of  me;  her  fortune,  added  to  my  few  thousand 
francs  of  pension,  would  secure  me  suitable  comfort  for  my 
old  age,  and  I  should  like  her  a  thousand  times  better  than 
a  minx  who  would  give  me  no  end  of  trouble,  who  would  be 
thirty  and  have  her  passions  when  I  should  be  sixty  and  have 
the  rheumatism.  At  my  time  of  life  we  think  of  these  things. 
And,  between  you  and  me,  I  may  add  that  if  I  marry,  I  should 
hope  to  have  no  children." 

Sylvie's  face  was  transparent  to  the  Colonel  all  through 
this  speech,  and  her  reply  was  enough  to  assure  him  of 
Vinet's  perfidy. 


PIERRETTE 


275 


^'So  you  are  not  in  love  with  Pierrette  ?"  she  exclaimed. 

"Bless  me !  Are  you  crazy,  my  dear  Sylvie  ?"  cried  he. 
"When  we  have  lost  all  our  teeth,  is  it  the  time  to  crack  nuts  ? 
Thank  God,  I  still  have  my  wits,  and  know  myself." 

Sylvie  would  not  then  say  more  about  herself ;  she  thought 
lierself  very  wily  in  using  her  brother's  name. 

"My  brother,"  said  she,  "had  thought  of  your  marrying 
her." 

"Your  brother  can  never  have  had  such  a  preposterous 
notion.  A  few  days  ago,  to  find  out  his  secret,  I  told  him 
that  I  was  in  love  with  Bathilde;  he  turned  as  white  as  your 
collar." 

"Is  he  in  love  with  Bathilde?"  said  Sylvie. 

"Madly !  And  Bathilde  certainly  loves  only  his  money." — 
("One  for  you,  Vinet,"  thought  Gouraud). — "What  should 
have  made  him  speak  of  Pierrette? — No,  Sylvie,"  he  went 
on,  taking  her  hand  and  pressing  it  with  meaning,  "since  you 
have  led  to  the  subject" — he  went  close  to  her — "well" — ^he 
kissed  her  hand;  he  was  a  cavalry  colonel,  and  had  given 
proofs  of  courage— "know  this:  I  want  no  wife  but  you. 
Though  the  marriage  will  look  like  a  marriage  for  money,  I 
feel  true  affection  for  you." 

"But  it  was  I  who  wished  that  you  should  marry  Pierrette ; 
and  if  T  were  to  give  her  my  money — what  then.  Colonel  ?" 

"But  I  do  not  want  to  have  a  wretched  home,  or  to  see, 
ten  years  hence,  some  young  whippersnapper,  such  as 
Julliard,  hovering  round  my  wife,  and  writing  verses  to 
her  in  the  newspaper.  I  am  too  much  a  man  on  that  score ; 
I  will  never  marry  a  woman  out  of  all  proportion  too  young." 

"Well,  Colonel,  we  will  talk  that  over  seriously,"  said 
Sylvie,  with  a  glance  she  thought  amorous,  and  which  w\ns 
YQiy  like  that  of  an  ogress.  Her  cold,  raw  purple  lips  parted 
over  her  yellow  teeth,  and  she  fancied  she  was  smiling. 

"Here  I  am,"  said  Rogron,  and  he  led  away  the  Colonel, 
who  bowed  courteously  to  the  old  maid. 

Gouraud  was  determined  to  hasten  his  marriage  with 
Sylvie,  and  so  become  master  of  the  house;  promising  himself 
-19  ~ 


\ 


276 


PIERRETTE 


that,  through  the  influence  he  would  acquire  over  Sylvie  dur* 
ing  the  honeymoon,  he  would  get  rid  both  of  Bathilde  and 
of  Celeste  Habert.  So,  as  they  walked,  he  told  Rogron  that  he 
had  been  making  fun  of  him  the  other  day;  that  he  had  no 
intentions  of  winning  Bathilde'S  heart,  not  being  rich  enough 
to  take  a  wife  who  had  no  money.  Then  he  confided  his 
projects;  he  had  long  since  chosen  S3dvie  for  her  admirable 
qualities;  in  short,  he  aspired  to  the  honor  of  becoming  his 
brother-in-law. 

"Oh,  Colonel !  Oh,  Baron !  If  only  my  consent  were 
needed,  it  would  be  done  as  soon  as  legal  delays  should  al- 
low V  cried  Eogron,  delighted  to  find  himself  relieved  of  this 
terrible  rival. 

Sylvie  spent  the  whole  morning  examining  her  own  rooms 
to  see  if  there  were  accommodation  for  a  couple.  She 
determined  on  building  a  second  story  for  her  brother,  and 
having  the  first  floor  for  herself  and  her  husband;  but  she 
also  promised  herself,  in  accordance  with  the  notions  of 
every  old  maid,  to  put  the  Colonel  to  some  tests,  so  as  to 
judge  of  his  heart  and  habits  before  making  up  her  mind. 
She  still  had  doubts,  and  wanted  to  make  sure  that  Pierrette 
had  no  intimacy  with  the  Colonel. 

At  dinner-time  the  girl  came  down  to  lay  the  cloth.  Sylvie 
had  been  obliged  to  do  the  cooking,  and  had  spotted  her  gown, 
exclaiming,  "Curse  Pierrette  V'  For  it  was  evident,  indeed, 
that  if  Pierrette  had  cooked  the  dinner,  Sylvie  would  not 
have  had  a  grease-stain  on  her  silk  dress. 

"So  here  you  are,  you  little  coddle.  You  are  like  the 
blacksmith's  dog  that  sleeps  under  the  forge  and  wakes  at 
the  sound  of  a  saucepan.  So  you  want  me  to  believe  that 
you  are  ill,  you  little  story-teller 

The  one  idea,  "You  did  not  confess  the  truth  as  to  what 
took  place  this  morning,  therefore  everything  you  say  is  a 
lie,"  was  like  a  hammer  with  which  Sylvie  was  prepared  to 
hit  incessantly  on  Pierrette's  head  and  heart. 

To  Pierrette's  great  astonishment,  Sylvie  sent  her,  after 
dinner,  to  dress  for  the  eveninaf.    The  liveliest  imagination 


PIERRETTE 


277 


is  no  match  for  the  energy  which  suspicion  gives  to  the  mind 
of  an  old  maid.  In  such  a  case,  the  old  maid  beats  politicians, 
attorneys  and  notaries,  bill-brokers  and  misers.  Sylvie  prom- 
ised herself  that  she  would  consult  Vinet  after  looking  well 
about  her.  She  meant  to  keep  Pierrette  in  the  room,  so  as 
to  judge  for  herself  by  the  child's  face  whether  the  Colone] 
had  told  the  truth. 

The  tirst  to  come  were  Madame  de  Chargeboeuf  and  her 
daughter.  By  her  cousin  Vinet's  advice,  Bathilde  had  dressed 
with  twice  her  usual  elegance.  She  wore  a  most  becoming 
blue  cotton-velvet  gown,  the  clear  kerchief  as  before,  bunches 
of  grapes  in  garnets  and  gold  for  earrings,  her  hair  in  ring- 
lets, the  artful  necklet,  little  black  satin  shoes,  gray  silk 
stockings,  and  Suede  gloves,  and  then  queenly  airs  and  girlish 
coquettishness  enough  to  catch  every  Eogron  in  the  river. 
Her  mother,  calm  and  dignified,  had  preserved,  as  had 
Bathilde,  a  certain  aristocratic  impertinence  by  which  these 
two  women  redeemed  everything,  betraying  the  spirit  of  their 
caste.  Bathilde  was  gifted  with  superior  intelligence,  though 
Vinet  alone  had  been  able  to  discern  it  after  the  two  months 
that  these  ladies  had  spent  in  his  house.  When  he  had 
sounded  the  depths  of  this  girl,  depressed  by  the  uselessness 
of  her  youth  and  beauty,  but  enlightened  by  the  contempt 
she  felt  for  the  men  of  a  period  when  money  was  their  sole 
idol,  Vinet  exclaimed  in  surprise: 

"If  I  had  but  married  you,  Bathilde,  by  this  time  I  should 
have  been  Keeper  of  the  Seals;  I  would  have  called  myself 
Vinet  de  Chargeboeuf,  and  have  sat  on  the  right." 

Bathilde  had  no  vulgar  aims  in  her  wish  to  be  married; 
she  would  not  marry  for  motherhood,  nor  for  the  sake  of 
having  a  husband;  she  would  marry  to  be  free,  to  have  a 
"responsible  publisher,"  as  it  were — to  be  called  Madam.e, 
and  to  act  as  men  act.  Eogron  to  her  was  a  name;  she 
thought  she  could  make  something  of  this  imbecile  creature — 
a  depute,  v/ho  might  vote  while  she  pulled  the  wires;  she 
wanted  to  be  revenged  on  her  family,  who  had  paid  little  heed 


278 


PIERRETTE 


to  a  penniless  girl.  Vinet,  admirin  j;  and  encouraging  her 
ideas,  had  greatly  extended  and  str.3i-igthened  them. 

"My  dear  cousin/^  said  he,  explrJaing  to  her  the  influence 
exerted  by  women,  and  pointing  out  the  sphere  of  action 
proper  to  them,  "do  you  suppose  that  Tiphaine,  a  profoundly 
mediocre  man,  can  by  his  own  merits  rise  to  sit  on  the  lower 
bench  in  Paris?  It  is  Madame  Tiphaine  who  got  him  re- 
turned as  deputy;  it  is  she  who  will  carry  him  to  Paris.  Her 
mother,  Madame  Eoguin,  is  a  cunning  body,  who  does  what 
she  pleases  with  du  Tillet  the  banker,  one  of  Nucingen's 
chief  allies,  both  of  them  close  friends  of  Keller's;  and  these 
three  houses  do  great  services  to  the  Government  or  its  most 
devoted  adherents;  the  offices  are  on  the  best  possible  terms 
with  these  lynxes  of  the  financial  world,  and  men  like  those 
know  all  Paris.  There  is  nothing  to  hinder  Tiphaine  from 
rising  to  be  the  Presiding  Judge  of  one  of  the  higher  Courts. 
— Marry  Eogron;  we  will  make  him  deputy  for  Provins  as 
soon  as  I  have  secured  for  myself  some  other  constituency  in 
Seine-et-Marne.  Then  you  will  have  a  receivership — one  of 
those  places  where  Eogron  will  have  nothing  to  do  but  to 
sign  his  nam.e.  We  will  stick  to  the  Opposition  if  it 
triumphs;  but  if  the  Bourbons  remain  in  power,  0  how 
gently  we  will  incline  towards  the  centre!  Besides,  Eogron 
will  not  live  for  ever,  and  you  can  marry  a  title  by-and-by. 
And  then,  if  you  are  in  a  good  position,  the  Chargeboeufs  will 
help  us.  Your  poverty — like  mine — has,  no  doubt,  enabled 
you  to  estimate  what  men  are  worth;  they  are  to  be  made 
use  of  only  as  post-horses.  A  man  or  a  woman  can  take  ua 
from  one  stage  to  the  next !" 

Vinet  had  made  a  little  Catherine  de  Medici  of  Bathilde. 
He  left  his  wife  at  home,  happy  with  her  two  children,  and 
always  attended  Madame  de  Chargeboeuf  and  Bathilde  to  the 
Eogrons'.  He  appeared  in  all  his  glory  as  the  tribune  of 
Champagne.  He  wore  neat  gold  spectacles,  a  silk  waistcoat, 
a  white  cravat,  black  trousers,  thin  boots,  a  black  coat  made 
in  Paris,  a  gold  watch  and  chain.  Instead  of  the  Vinet  of 
old — pale,  lean,  haggard,  and  gloomy — he  exhibited  tho 


PIERRETTE 


Vinet  of  the  day,  in  all  the  bravery  of  a  political  personage; 
sure  of  his  luck,  he  trod  with  the  decision  peculiar  to  a  busy 
advocate  familiar  with  the  caverns  of  justice.  His  small, 
cunning  head  was  so  smartly  brushed,  and  his  clean-shaven 
chin  gave  him  such  a  finished  though  cold  appearance,  that  he 
looked  quite  pleasing,  in  the  style  of  Robespierre.  He  might 
certainly  become  a  delightful  public  prosecutor,  with  an 
clastic,  dangerous,  and  deadly  flow  of  eloquence,  or  an  orator, 
with  all  the  subtlety  of  Benjamin  Constant.  The  acrimony 
and  hatred  which  had  formerly  animated  him  had  turned  to 
perfidious  softness.    The  poison  had  become  medicine. 

"Good-evening,  my  dear,  how  are  you?"  said  Madame  de 
Chargeboeuf  to  Sylvie. 

Bathilde  went  straight  to  the  fireplace,  took  off  her  hat, 
looked  at  herself  in  the  glass,  and  put  her  pretty  foot  on  the 
bar  of  the  fender  to  display  it  to  Rogron. 

"What  ails  you,  monsieur?"  said  she,  looking  at  him. 
"You  give  me  no  greeting  ?  Well,  indeed !  I  may  put  on  a 
velvet  frock  for  your  benefit    .  . 

She  stopped  Pierrette,  bidding  her  put  her  hat  on  a  chair, 
and  the  girl  took  it  from  her,  Bathilde  resigning  it  to  her 
as  though  Pierrette  had  been  the  housemaid. 

Men  are  thought  very  fierce,  and  so  are  tigers ;  but  neither 
tigers,  nor  vipers,  nor  diplomates,  nor  men  of  law,  nor  execu- 
tioners, nor  kings,  can  in  their  utmost  atrocities  come  near 
the  gentle  cruelt}^  the  poisoned  sweetness,  the  savage  scorn 
of  young  ladies  to  each  other  when  certain  of  them  think 
themselves  superior  to  others  in  birth,  fortune,  or  grace,  and 
when  marriage  is  in  question,  or  precedence,  or,  in  short,  any 
feminine  rivalry.  The  "Thank  you,  mademoiselle,"  spoken 
Dy  Bathilde  to  Pierrette,  was  a  poem  in  twelve  cantos. 

Her  name  was  Bathilde,  the  other's  was  Pierrette;  she  was 
a  Chargeboeuf,  the  other  a  Lorrain!  Pierrette  was  under- 
sized and  fragile,  Bathilde  was  tall  and  full  of  vitality! 
Pierrette  was  fed  by  charity,  Bathilde  and  her  mother  lived 
on  their  own  money !  Pierrette  wore  a  stuff  frock  with  a 
deep  tucker,   Bathilde  dragged  the  serpentine   folds  of 


\ 


280 


PIERRETTE 


her  blue  velvet;  Bathilde  had  the  finest  shoulders  in  the 
department,  and  an  arm  like  a  queen's,  Pierrette's  shoulder- 
blades  and  arms  were  skinny;  Pierrette  was  Cinderella^ 
Bathilde  the  fair}^;  Bathilde  would  get  married,  Pierrette 
would  die  a  maid !  Bathilde  was  worshiped,  Pierrette  had  no 
one  to  love  her!  Bathilde  had  her  hair  dressed — she  had 
taste,  Pierrette  hid  her  hair  under  a  little  cap,  and  knew 
nothing  of  the  fashions!  Epilogue — Bathilde  was  every- 
thing, Pierrette  was  nothing.  The  proud  little  Bretonne  per- 
fectly understood  this  cruel  poem. 

"Good-evening,  child,"  said  Madame  de  Chargeboeuf  from 
the  summit  of  her  grandeur,  and  with  an  accent  given  by 
her  narrow  pinched  nose. 

Vinet  put  the  crowning  touch  to  these  insulting  civilities 
by  looking  at  Pierrette  and  saying,  on  three  notes,  "Oh,  oh, 
oh  !   How  fine  we  are  this  evening,  Pierrette  !" 

"I !"  said  the  poor  child.  "You  should  say  that  to  your 
cousin,  not  to  me.    She  is  beautiful !'' 

"Oh,  my  cousin  is  always  bea.utiful,"  replied  the  lawyer. 
"Do  not  you  say  so,  Pere  Rogron  ?"  he  added,  turning  to  the 
master  of  the  house,  and  shaking  hands  with  him. 

"Yes,''  said  Eogron. 

"Why  force  him  to  say  what  he  does  not  think?  I  never 
was  to  his  taste,"  replied  Bathilde,  placing  herself  in  front 
of  Rogron.    "Is  not  that  the  truth? — Look  at  me." 

Rogron  looked  at  her  from  head  to  foot,  and  gently  closed 
his  eyes,  like  a  cat  when  its  poll  is  scratched. 

"You  are  too  beautiful,"  said  he,  "too  dangerous  to 
look  at." 

"Why?" 

Rogron  gazed  at  the  fire-logs  and  said  nothing. 

At  this  moment  Mademoiselle  Habert  came,  followed  by 
the  Colonel.  Celeste  Habert,  everybody's  enemy  now,  had 
none  but  Sylvie  on  her  side;  but  each  one  showed  her  all 
the  greater  consideration,  politeness,  and  amiable  attention 
because  all  were  undermining  her,  so  that  she  doubted  be- 
tween this  display  of  civil  interest  and  the  distrust  which 


PIERRETTE 


281 


her  t)rother  had  implanted  in  lier.  The  priest,  though 
standing  apart  from  the  theatre  of  war,  guessed  everything; 
and  so,  when  he  perceived  that  his  sister's  hopes  were  at  an 
end,  he  became  one  of  the  Rogrons'  most  formidable  antago- 
nists. 

Th^>  reader  can  at  once  imagine  what  Mademoiselle  Habert 
was  like  on  being  told  that  even  if  she  had  not  been  mistress 
— arch-mistress — of  a  school,  she  would  still  always  have 
looked  like  a  governess.  Governesses  have  a  particular  way 
of  putting  on  their  caps.  Just  as  elderly  Englishwomen 
have  monopolized  the  fashion  of  turbans,  so  governesses  have 
the  monopoly  of  these  caps ;  the  crown  of  the  cap  towers  above 
the  flowers,  the  flowers  are  more  than  artificial;  stored  care- 
fully in  a  wardrobe,  this  cap  is  always  new  and  always  old, 
even  on  the  first  day.  These  old  maids  make  it  a  point  of 
honor  to  be  like  a  painter's  lay-figure;  they  sit  on  their 
haunches,  not  on  their  chairs.  When  they  are  spoken  to  they 
turn  their  whole  body;  and  when  their  gowns  creak,  we  are 
tempted  to  believe  that  the  springs  of  the  machinery  are  out 
of  order.  Mademoiselle  Habert,  a  type  of  her  kind,  had  a 
hard  eye,  a  set  mouth,  and  under  her  chin,  furrowed  with 
wrinkles,  the  limp  and  crumpled  capstrings  wagged  and 
frisked  as  she  moved.  She  had  an  added  charm  in  two  moles, 
rather  large  and  rather  brown,  with  hairs  that  she  left  to 
grow  like  untied  clemiatis.  Finally,  she  took  snuff,  and  with- 
out grace. 

They  sat  down  to  the  toil  of  boston.  Sylvie  had  opposite 
to  her  Mademoiselle  Habert,  and  the  Colonel  sat  on  one  side, 
opposite  Madame  de  Chargeboeuf.  Bathilde  placed  her- 
self near  her  mother  and  Rogron.  Sylvie  put  Pierrette  be- 
tween herself  and  the  Colonel.  Rogron  opened  another  card- 
table  in  case  Monsieur  Neraud  should  come,  and  Monsieur 
Cournant  and  his  wife.  Vinet  and  Bathilde  could  both  play 
whist,  which  was  Monsieur  and  Madame  Cournant's  game. 
Ever  since  the  Chargeboeuf  ladies — as  they  say  in  Provins — 
had  been  in  the  habit  of  coming  to  the  Rogrons',  the  two 
lamps  blazed  on  the  chimney-piece  between  the  candelabr3 


282 


PIERRETTE 


and  the  clock,  and  the  tables  were  lighted  by  wax  lights 
at  two  francs  a  pound,  which,  however,  was  paid  by  winnings 
at  cards. 

"Now,  Pierrette,  my  child,  take  your  sewing,"  said  Sylvie 
with  treacherous  gentleness,  seeing  her  wa.tch  the  Coloners 
play. 

In  public  she  always  pretended  to  treat  Pierrette  very 
kindly.  This  mean  deceit  irritated  the  honest  Bretonne,  and 
made  her  despise  her  cousin.  Pierrette  fetched  her  em-, 
broidery ;  but  as  she  set  the  stitches,  she  looked  now  and  then 
at  the  Colonel's  game.  Gouraud  seemed  not  to  know  that 
there  was  a  little  girl  at  his  side.  Sylvie  began  to  think 
this  indifference  extremely  suspicious.  At  a  certain  moment 
in  the  game  the  old  maid  declared  miser e  in  hearts ;  the  pool 
was  full  of  counters,  and  there  were  twenty-seven  sous  in 
it  besides.  The  Cournants  and  Neraud  had  come.  The  old 
supernumerary  judge,  Desfondrilles — a  man  in  whom  the 
Minister  of  Justice  had  discerned  the  qualifications  for  a 
judge  when  appointing  him  examining  magistrate,  but  who 
was  never  thought  clever  enough  for  a  superior  position — 
had  for  the  last  two  months  forsaken  the  Tiphaines,  and 
shown  a  leaning  towards  Vinet's  party.  He  was  now  standing 
in  front  of  the  fire,  holding  up  his  coat-tails,  and  gazing  at 
the  gorgeous  drawing-room  in  which  Mademoiselle  de  Charge- 
boeuf  shone;  for  the  setting  of  crimson  looked  as  if  it  had 
been  contrived  on  purpose  to  show  off  the  beauty  of  this 
magnificent  young  woman.  Silence  reigned;  Pierrette 
watched  the  play,  and  Sylvie's  attention  was  diverted  by  the 
excitement  of  the  game. 

"Play  that,"  said  Pierrette  to  the  Colonel,  painting  to  a 
heart. 

The  Colonel  led  from  a  sequence  in  hearts;  the  hearts 
lay  between  him  and  Sylvie;  the  Colonel  forced  the  ace, 
though  it  was  guarded  in  Sylvie's  hand  by  five  small  cards. 

"It  is  not  fair  play !  Pierrette  saw  my  hand,  and  the  Colo- 
nel allowed  her  to  advise  him !" 

"But,  mademoiselle,"  said  Celeste,  "it  was  the  Colonel's 
game  to  lead  hearts  since  he  found  that  you  had  one !" 


283 


The  speech  made  Desfondrilles  smile;  he  was  a  keen  ob- 
server, who  amused  hims(ilf  with  watching  all  the  interests 
at  stake  in  Provins,  where  he  played  the  part  of  Rigaudin 
in  Picard's  play  of  la  Maison  en  lotcrie. 

"It  was  the  Colonel's  game/'  Cournant  put  in,  without 
knowing  anything  about  it. 

Sylvie  shot  at  Mademoiselle  Habert  a  look  of  old  maid 
against  old  maid,  villainous  but  honeyed. 

"Pierrette,  you  saw  my  hand,"  said  Sylvie,  fixing  her  eyes 
on  the  girl. 

"No,  cousin." 

"I  was  watching  you  all,"  said  the  archaeological  judge  \  "I 
can  bear  witness  that  the  little  girl  saw  no  one's  hand  but  the 
Colonel's." 

"Pooh!  these  little  girls  know  very  well  how  to  steal  a 
glance  with  their  sweet  eyes,"  said  Gouraud  in  alarm. 
"Indeed !"  said  Sylvie. 

"Yes,"  replied  Gouraud;  "she  may  have  looked  over  your 
hand  to  play  you  a  trick.   Was  it  not  so,  my  beauty  ?" 

"No,"  said  the  honest  Bretonne.  "I  am  incapable  of  such 
a  thing!  In'  that  case  I  should  have  followed  my  cousin's 
game." 

"You  know  very  well  that  you  are  a  story-teller  and  a 
little  fool  into  the  bargain,"  said  Sylvie.  "Since  what  took 
place  this  morning,  who  can  believe  a  word  you  say?  You 
are  a    .    .  ." 

Pierrette  did  not  wait  to  hear  her  cousin  end  the  sentence 
in  her  presence.  Anticipating  a  torrent  of  abuse,  she  rose, 
went  out  of  the  room  without  a  light,  and  up  to  her 
room.  Sylvie  turned  pale  with  rage,  and  muttered  between 
her  teeth,  "I  will  pay  her  out !" 

"Will  you  pay  your  losses  ?"  said  Madame  de  Chargebceuf. 

At  this  moment  poor  Pierrette  hit  her  head  against  the 
passage  door  which  the  judge  had  left  open. 

"Good !  That  serves  her  right !"  cried  S3dvie. 

^^hat  has  happened?"  asked  Desfondrilles. 

"Nothing  that  she  does  not  deserve,"  replied  Sylvie. 


284 


PIERRETTE 


'^She  has  given  herself  some  severe  blow/'  said  Made- 
moiselle Habert. 

Sylvie  tried  to  evade  paying  her  stakes  by  rising  to  see 
what  Pierrette  had  done;  but  Madame  de  Chargeboenf 
stopped  her. 

"Pay  lis  first/'  said  she,  laughing ;  "by  the  time  you  return 
you  will  have  forgotten  all  about  it." 

This  suggestion,  based  on  the  bad  faith  the  ex-haberdasher 
showed  in  the  matter  of  her  gambling  debts,  met  with  gen- 
eral approval.  Sylvie  sat  down  and  thought  no  more  of  Pier- 
rette; and  no  one  was  surprised  at  her  indifference.  All  the 
evening  Sylvie  was  absent-minded.  When  cards  were  over, 
at  about  half-past  nine,  she  sank  into  an  easy-chair  by  the 
fire,  and  only  rose  to  take  leave  of  her  guests.  The  Colonel 
tortured  her;  she  did  not  know  what  to  think  about  him. 

"Men  are  so  false  V  said  she  to  herself  as  she  fell  asleep. 

Pierrette  had  given  herself  a  frightful  blow  against  the 
edge  of  the  door,  just  over  her  ear,  where  girls  part  their 
hair  to  put  the  forepart  into  curl-papers.  Next  morning 
there  was  a  bad  purple-veined  bruise. 

"God  has  punished  you,"  said  Sylvie  at  breakfast;  "you 
disobeyed  me,  you  showed  a  great  want  of  respect  in  not 
listening  to  me,  and  in  going  away  in  the  middle  of  my  sen- 
tence.  You  have  no  more  than  you  deserve." 

"Still,"  said  Eogron,  "you  should  put  on  a  rag  dipped  in 
salt  and  water." 

"Pooh!    It  is  nothing!"  said  Sylvie. 

The  poor  child  had  come  to  the  point  when  she  thought 
her  guardian's  remark  a  proof  of  interest. 

The  week  ended  as  it  had  begun,  in  constant  torment. 
Sylvie  became  ingenious,  and  carried  her  refinement  of 
tyranny  to  an  extreme  pitch.  The  Illinois,  Cherokees,  and 
Mohicans  might  have  learnt  of  her.  Pierrette  dared  not 
complain  of  her  indefinite  misery  and  the  pain  she  suffered 
in  her  head.  At  tlie  bottom  of  Sylvie's  displeasure  lay  the 
girl's  refusal  to  tell  anytbins:  about  Brigaut;  and  Pierrette, 


PIERRETTE 


285 


with  Breton  obstinacy,  was  do  tor  mined  to  keep  a  very  natural 
silence.  Every  one  can  imagine  what  a  glance  she  gave 
Brigaut,  who,  as  she  believed,  would  be  lost  to  her  if  he  were 
discovered,  and  whom  she  instinctively  longed  to  keep  near 
her,  happy  in  knowing  that  he  was  at  Provins.  What  a 
delight  to  her  to  see  Brigaut  again !  The  sight  of  the  com- 
panion of  her  childhood  was  to  her  like  the  view  an  exile 
gets  from  afar  of  his  native  land;  she  looked  on  him  as  a 
martyr  gazes  at  the  sky  when,  during  his  torments,  his  eyes, 
blessed  with  double  sight,  see  through  to  heaven. 

Pierrette's  parting  glance  had  been  so  perfectly  intelligible 
to  the  Major's  son,  that  while  he  planed  his  boards,  opened 
his  compasses,  took  his  measurements,  and  fitted  his  pieces, 
he  racked  his  brains  for  some  means  of  corresponding  with 
Pierrette.  Brigaut  at  last  hit  on  this  extremely  simple  plan. 
At  a  certain  hour  at  night  Pierrette  must  let  down  a  string, 
and  he  would  tie  a  letter  to  the  end  of  it.  In  the  midst  of 
her  terrible  sufferings  from  two  maladies,  an  abscess  which 
was  forming  in  her  head,  and  her  general  disorderment, 
Pierrette  was  sustained  by  the  idea  of  corresponding  with 
Brigaut.  The  same  desire  agitated  both  hearts;  though 
apart,  they  understood  each  other !  At  every  pang  that  made 
her  heart  flutter,  at  every  pain  that  shot  through  her  brain, 
Pierrette  said  to  herself,  ^'Brigaut  is  at  hand!"  and  then 
she  could  suffer  without  complaining. 

On  the  next  market-day  after  their  first  meeting  in  the 
church,  Brigaut  looked  out  for  his  little  friend.  Though  he 
saw  that  she  was  pale,  and  trembling  like  a  November  leaf 
about  to  drop  from  the  bough,  without  losing  his  head  he 
went  to  bargain  for  some  fruit  at  the  stall  where  the  terrible 
Sylvie  was  beating  down  the  price  of  her  purchases.  Brigaut 
contrived  to  slip  a  note  into  Pierrette's  hand,  and  he  did  it 
naturally,  while  jesting  with  the  market  woman,  and  with 
all  the  dexterity  of  a  rake,  as  if  he  had  never  done  anything 
else,  so  coolly  did  he  manage  it,  in  spite  of  the  hot  blood  that 
sang  in  his  ears  and  surged  boiling  from  his  heart,  almost 
bursting  the  veins  and  arteries.  On  the  surface  he  had  the 


286 


PIERRETTE 


determination  of  an  old  housebreaker,  and  within  the  quaking 
heart  of  innocence,  like  mothers  sometimes  in  their  mortal 
anguish,  when  they  are  gripped  between  two  dangers,  be- 
tween two  precipices.  Pierrette  felt  Brigaut's  dizziness;  she 
crushed  the  paper  into  her  apron  pocket;  the  pallor  of  her 
cheeks  changed  to  the  cherry  redness  of  a  fierce  fire.  These 
two  children  each  unconsciously  went  through  sensations 
enough  for  ten  commonplace  love-affairs.  That  instant  left 
in  their  souls  a  wellspring  of  emotions.  Sylvie,  who  did  not 
recognize  the  Breton  accent,  could  not  suspect  a  lover  in 
Brigaut,  and  Pierrette  came  home  with  her  treasure. 

The  letters  of  these  two  poor  children  were  destined  to 
serve  as  documents  in  a  horrible  legal  squabble;  for,  but 
for  that  fatal  circumstance,  they  never  would  have  been  seen. 
This  is  what  Pierrette  read  that  evening  in  her  room: — 

"My  Dear  Pierrette, — At  midnight,  when  everyl»ody  is 
asleep,  but  when  I  shall  be  awake  for  your  sake,  I  will  come 
every  night  under  the  kitchen  window.  You  can  let  down 
out  of  your  window  a  string  long  enough  to  reach  me,  which 
will  make  no  noise,  and  tie  to  the  end  of  it  whatever  you 
want  to  write  to  me.  I  will  answer  you  in  the  same  way. 
I  knew  that  you  had  been  taught  to  read  and  write  by  those 
wretched  relations  who  were  to  do  you  so  much  good,  and 
who  are  doing  you  so  much  harm!  You,  Pierrette,  the 
daughter  of  a  Colonel  who  died  for  France,  are  compelled 
by  these  monsters  to  cook  for  them !  That  is  how  your 
pretty  color  and  your  fine  health  have  vanished.  What  has 
become  of  my  Pierrette?  What  have  they  done  to  her?  I 
can  see  plainly  that  you  are  not  happy. 

*^0h !  Pierrette,  let  us  go  back  to  Brittany.  I  can  earn 
enough  to  give  you  everything  you  need ;  you  may  have  three 
francs  a.  day,  for  I  earn  from  four  to  five,  and  thirty  sous 
are  plenty  for  me.  Oh!  Pierrette,  how  I  have  prayed  to 
God  for  you  since  seeing  you  again.  I  have  asked  Him  to 
give  me  all  your  pain,  and  to  grant  you  all  the  pleasures. 

"What  have  you  to  do  with  them  that  they  keep  you? 


PIEliUETTE 


28? 


YouT  grandirj other  is  more  to  you  than  they  are.  These 
Eogrons  aro  venomous;  they  have  spoilt  all  your  gaiety. 
You  do  not  even  walk  at  Provins  as  you  used  to  move  in 
Brittany.  Let  us  go  home  to  Brittany.  In  short,  here  1 
am  to  serve  you,  to  do  your  bidding;  and  you  must  tell  me 
what  you  wish.  If  you  want  money,  I  have  sixty  crowns 
of  ours,  and  I  shall  have  the  grief  of  sending  them  to  you 
by  the  string  instead  of  kissing  your  dear  hands  respectfully 
when  I  give  you  the  money.  Ah !  my  dear  Pierrette,  the 
blue  sky  has  now  for  a  long  time  been  dark  to  me.  I  have 
not  had  two  hours  of  Joy  since  I  put  you  into  that  ill-starred 
diligence ;  and  when  I  saw  you  again,  like  a  shade,  that  witch 
of  a  cousin  disturbed  our  happiness.  However,  we  shall  have 
the  t»omfort  of  praying  to  God  together  every  Sunday;  He 
will  perhaps  hear  uc  the  better.  Not  good-bye,  dear  Pierrette, 
only  till  to-night." 

This  letter  agitated  her  so  greatly  that  she  sat  for  above 
an  hour  reading  and  re-reading  it;  but  she  reflected,  not 
without  pain,  that  she  Lad  nothing  to  write  with.  So  she 
made  up  her  mind  to  the  difficult  expedition  from  her  attic 
to  the  dining-room,  where  she  could  find  ink,  pen,  and  paper ; 
and  she  accomplished  it  without  waking  Sylvie.  A  few  min- 
utes before  midnight  she  j.ad  finished  this  letter,  which  was 
also  produced  in  Court:— 

"Mr  Fri-l^nd, — Oh  yes,  my  friend!  For  there  is  no  one 
but  you,  Jacques,  and  my  grandmother,  who  loves  me.  God 
ToTgive  me,  but  you  are  the  only  two  persons  I  love,  one  as 
much  as  the  other,  neither  more  nor  less.  I  was  too  little 
to  remember  my  mother;  but  you,  Jacques,  and  my  grand- 
mother, and  my  grandfather  too,  God  rest  his  soul,  for  he 
{lufiered  much  from  his  ruin,  which  was  mine  too — ^in  short, 
you  are  the  only  two  remaining,  and  I  love  you  as  much  as 
I  am  wretched!  So  to  know  how  much  I  love  you,  you 
would  have  to  know  how  much  I  suffer;  but  I  do  not  wish 
tha1>— it  would  make  you  too  unhappy.    I  am.  spoken  to  as 


288 


PIERRETTE 


yon  would  not  speak  to  a  dog ;  I  am  treated  as  if  I  were  dirt  r 
and  in  vain  I  examine  m3^self  as  if  I  were  before  God,  I 
cannot  see  that  I  am  in  fault  towards  them.  Before  you  sang 
the  bride's  song  to  me  I  saw  that  God  was  good  in  my  misery ; 
for  I  prayed  to  Him  to  take  me  out  of  this  world,  and  as  I 
felt  very  ill,  I  said  to  myself,  '^God  has  heard  m,e !' 

"But  since  you  have  come,  Brigaut,  I  want  to  go  away  v/ith 
you  to  Brittany  to  see  my  grandmamma,  who  loves  me,  though 
they  tell  me  she  has  robbed  me  of  eight  thousand  francs. 
Brigaut,  if  they  are  really  mine,  can  you  get  them?  But  it 
is  all  a  lie;  if  we  had  eight  thousand  francs,  grandmamma 
would  not  be  at  Saint- Jacques.  I  would  not  trouble  that 
good  saintly  woman's  last  days  by  telling  her  of  my  miseries ; 
it  would  be  enough  to  kill  her.  Ah!  if  she  could  know  that 
they  make  her  grandchild  wash  the  pots  and  pans — she  who 
would  say  to  me,  'Leave  that  alone,  my  darling,'  when  I 
tried  to  help  her  in  her  troubles;  'leave  it,  leave  it,  my  pet; 
you  will  spoil  your  pretty  little  hands.'  Well,  my  nails  are 
clean  at  any  rate!  Many  times  I  cannot  carry  the  market 
basket,  and  the  handle  saws  my  arm  as  I  come  home  from 
market. 

"At  the  same  time,  I  do  not  think  that  my  cousins  are 
cruel ;  but  it  is  their  way  always  to  be  scolding,  and  it  would 
seem  that  I  can  never  get  away  from  them.  My  cousin 
Eogron  is  my  guardian.  One  day  when  I  meant  to  run  away, 
as  I  was  too  miserable,  and  I  told  them  so,  my  cousin  Sylvie 
answered  that  the  police  would  go  after  me,  that  the  law  was 
on  my  guardian's  side;  and  I  saw  very  clearly  that  cousins 
can  no  more  take  the  place  of  our  father  and  mother  than 
the  Saints  can  take  the  place  of  God. — My  poor  Jacques, 
what  use  could  I  make  of  your  money?  Keep  it  for  our 
journey.  Oh !  how  I  have  thought  of  you  and  Pen-Hoel 
and  the  large  pool.  We  ate  our  cake  first,  out  there,  for  I 
think  I  am  getting  worse.  I  am  very  ill,  Jacques.  I  have 
such  pains  in  my  head  that  I  could  scream,  and  in  my  back 
and  my  bones ;  sometimes  round  my  loins  that  half  kills  me ; 
and  I  have  no  appetite  but  for  nasty  things,  leaves  and  roots, 


PIERRETTE. 


and  I  like  the  smell  of  printed  paper.  There  are  times  when 
I  should  cry  if  I  were  alone,  for  J  may  not  do  anything  as  1 
wish;  I  am  not  even  allowed  to  cry.  I  have  to  hide  myself 
to  offer  up  my  tears  to  Him  from  whom  we  receive  those 
mercies  which  we  call  our  afflictions.  Was  it  not  He  who  in- 
spired you  with  the  good  idea  of  coming  to  sing  the  bride's 
song  under  my  window? — Oh!  Jacques,  cousin  Sylvie,  who 
heard  you,  told  me  I  had  a  lover.  If  you  will  be  my  lover, 
love  me  very  much;  I  promise  always  to  love  you,  as  in  the 
past,  and  to  be  your  faithful  servant, 

"Pierrette  Lorrain. 

"You  will  always  love  me,  won't  you?" 

The  girl  had  taken  a  crust  of  bread  from  the  kitchen,  in 
which  she  made  a  hole  to  stick  her  letter  in,  so  as  to  weight 
the  thread.  At  midnight,  after  opening  her  window  with 
excessive  caution,  she  let  down  her  note  with  the  bread,  which 
could  make  no  noise  by  tapping  against  the  wall  or  the  shut- 
ters. She  felt  the  thread  pulled  by  Brigaut,  who  broke  it, 
and  then  went  stealthily  away.  When  he  was  in  the  middle 
of  the  Square  she  could  see  him,  though  indistinctly,  in  the 
starlight ;  but  he  could  gaze  at  her  in  the  luminous  band  pro- 
jected by  the  candle.  The  two  young  things  remained  there 
for  an  hour,  Pierrette  signaling  to  him  to  go  away,  he  going 
and  she  remaining,  and  he  returned  to  his  post,  while  Pier- 
rette again  waved  to  him  to  be  gone.  This  was  several  times 
repeated,  till  the  girl  shut  her  window,  got  into  bed,  and 
blew  out  her  light. 

Once  in  bed,  she  went  to  sleep,  happy  though  suffering; 
she  had  Brigaut's  letter  under  her  pillow:  She  slept  the 
sleep  of  the  persecuted,  a  sleep  blessed  by  the  angels,  the 
sleep  of  golden  and  far-away  glories  full  of  the  arabesques 
of  heaven,  which  Eaphael  dreamed  of  and  drew. 

Her  delicate  physical  nature  was  so  responsive  to  her  moral 
nature  that  Pierrette  rose  next  morning  as  glad  and  light  as  a 
lark,  beaming  and  gay.     Such  a  change  could  not  escape 


200 


PIERRETTE 


Sylvie's  eye ;  this  time,  instead  of  scolding  her,  she  proceeded 
to  watch  her  with  the  cunning  of  a  raven. 

"What  makes  her  so  happy?"  was  suggested  by  jealousy, 
and  not  by  tyranny.  If  Sylvie  had  not  been  possessed  by 
the  idea  of  the  Colonel,  she  would  certainly  have  said  as  usual, 
"Pierrette,  you  are  very  turbulent,  or  very  heedless  of  what  is 
said  to  you.'^  The  old  maid  determined  to  opy  on  Pierrette, 
as  only  old  maids  can  spy.  The  day  passed  in  gloom  and 
silence,  like  the  hour  before  a  storm. 

"So  you  are  no  longer  so  ailing,  miss?"  said  Sylvie  at 
dinner.  "Did  not  I  tell  you  tliat  she  shams  it  all  to  worry 
us?"  she  exclaimed,  turning  to  her  brother,  without  waiting 
for  Pierrette's  reply. 

"On  the  contrary,  cousin,  I  have  a  sort  of  fever  " 

"What  sort  of  fever?  You  are  as  gay  as  a  linnet.  You 
have  seen  some  one  again  perhaps  ?" 

Pierrette  shuddered,  and  kept  her  eyes  on  her  plate. 

*'Tartufer  cried  Sylvie.  "At  fourteen!  Already!  What 
A.i  nature  !   Why,  you  will  be  a  wretch  indeed !" 

"I  do  not  know  what  you  mean,"  replied  Pierrette,  raising 
lier  fine  luminous  hazel  eyes  to  her  cousin's  face. 

"This  evening,"  said  Sylvie,  "you  will  remain  in  the 
dining-room  to  sew  by  a  candle.  You  are  in  the  way  in  the 
<5'.rawing-room,  and  I  will  not  have  you  looking  over  my  hand 
to  advise  your  favorites." 

Pierrette  did  not  flinch. 

"Hypocrite !"  exclaimed  Sylvie  as  she  left  the  room. 

Eogron,  who  could  not  understand  what  his  sister  was 
talking  about,  said  to  Pierrette,  "What  is  the  matter  between 
you  two?  Try,  Pierrette,  to  please  your  cousin;  she  is  most 
indulgent,  most  kind ;  and  if  she  is  put  out  with  you,  certainly 
you  must  be  wrong.  Why  do  you  squabble?  For  my  part, 
I  like  a  quiet  life.  Look  at  Mademoiselle  Bathilde;  you 
should  try  to  copy  her." 

Pierrette  could  bear  it  all;  Brigaut  would  come,  beyond 
doubt,  at  midnight  to  bring  his  answer,  and  this  hope  was  her 
viaticum  for  the  day.     But  she  was  exhausting  her  last 


PIEKRETTB 


291 


strength.  She  did  not  go  to  sleep;  she  sat  up  listening  to 
the  clocks  strike  the  hours,  and  fearing  to  make  a  sound. 
At  last  twelve  struck;  she  softly  opened  her  window,  and 
this  time  she  used  a  string  she  had  made  long  enough  by 
tying  several  bits  together.  She  heard  Brigaut's  step,  and 
when  she  drew  up  the  string  she  read  the  following  letter, 
which  filled  her  with  joy: — 

"My  Dear  Pierrette, — If  you  are  in  such  pain,  you  must 
not  tire  yourself  by  sitting  up  for  me.  You  will  be  sure  to 
hear  me  call  like  a  Chouan.  My  father  luckily  taught  me 
to  imitate  their  cry.  So  I  shall  repeat  it  three  times,  and 
you  will  know  that  I  have  come,  and  that  you  must  let  down 
the  string,  but  I  shall  not  come  again  for  some  few  days.  I  hope 
then  to  have  good  news  for  you.  Oh!  Pierrette,  not  death! 
What  are  you  thinking  of  ?  All  my  heart  quaked ;  I  thought 
T  was  dead  myself  at  the  mere  idea.  No,,  my  Pierrette,  you 
shall  not  die ;  you  shall  live  happy,  and  soon  be  rescued  from 
your  persecutors.  If  I  should  not  succeed  in  what  I  am  at- 
tempting, to  save  you,  I  would  go  to  the  lawyers  and  declare 
in  the  face  of  heaven  and  earth  how  you  are  treated  by  your 
cruel  relations. 

"I  am  certain  that  you  have  only  to  endure  a  few  days 
more:  take  patience.  Pierrette,  Brigaut  is  watching  over 
you,  as  he  did  in  the  days  when  we  went  to  slide  on  the  pond, 
and  I  pulled  you  out  of  the  deep  hole  where  we  were  so 
nearly  lost  together.  Good-bye,  my  dear  Pierrette;  in  a  few 
days  we  shall  be  happy,  please  God.  Alas!  I  dare  not  tell 
you  of  the  only  thing  that  may  hinder  our  meeting.  But 
God  loves  us !  So  in  a  few  days  I  shall  be  able  to  see  my  dear 
Pierrette  in  liberty,  without  a  care,  without  any  one  hinder- 
ing my  looking  at  you,  for  I  am  very  hungry  to  see  you,  0 
Pierrette !  Pierrette,  who  condescend  to  love  me  and  to  tell 
me  so.  Yes,  Pierrette,  I  will  be  your  lover,  but  only  when  I 
have  earned  the  grand  fortune  you  deserve,  and  till  then  I 
will  be  no  more  to  you  than  a  devoted  servant  whom  you  may 
command.  Adieu. 

"Jacques  Brigaut," 

-20 


292 


PIERRETTE 


This  was  what  the  young  fellow  did  not  tell  Pierrette.  He 
had  written  the  following  letter  to  Madame  Lorrain  at 
Nantes : — 

'^Madame  Lorrain, — Your  granddaughter  will  die,  killed 
by  ill-usage,  if  you  do  not  come  to  claim  her  back.  I  hardly 
knew  her  again;  and  to  enable  you  to  judge  for  yourself  of 
the  state  of  things,  I  enclose  in  this  letter  one  from  Pierrette 
to  me.  You  are  reported  here  to  have  your  grandchild's  for- 
tune, and  you  ought  to  justify  yourself  on  this  point.  In 
short,  if  you  can,  come  quickly;  we  may  yet  be  happy,  and 
later  you  will  find  Pierrette  dead. — I  remain,  with  respect, 
your  humble  servant, 

"Jacques  Brigaut. 
"At  Monsieur  Frappier's,  Master  joiner.  Grand'  Rue, 
Provins.'^ 

Brigaut  only  feared  lest  Pierrette's  grandmother  might 
be  dead. 

Though  this  letter  from  him,  whom  in  her  innocence  she 
called  her  lover,  was  almost  inexplicable  to  Pierrette,  she 
accepted  it  with  virgin  faith.  Her  heart  experienced  the 
feeling  which  travelers  in  the  desert  know  when  they  see 
from  afar  the  palm  grove  round  a  well.  In  a  few  days  her 
miseries  would  be  ended,  Brigaut  said  it;  she  slept  on  the 
promise  of  her  childhood's  friend;  and  yet,  as  she  laid  this 
letter  with  the  former  one,  a  dreadful  thought  found  dreadful 
expression : 

"Poor  Brigaut,"  said  she  to  herself,  ^Tie  does  not  know 
the  hole  I  have  my  feet  in!" 

Sylvie  had  heard  Pierrette;  she  had  also  heard  Brigaut 
below  the  window;  she  sprang  up,  rushed  to  look  out  on  the 
Square  through  the  shutter  slats,  and  saw  a  man  going  away 
towards  the  house  where  the  Colonel  lived.  In  front  of  that 
Brigaut  stopped.  The  old  maid  gently  opened  her  door,  went 
upstairs,  was  amazed  at  seeing  a  light  in  Pierrette's  room, 
peeped  through  the  keyhole,  and  could  see  nothing. 


PIEItKETTE 


893 


"Pierrette/'  said  she,  ^^are  you  ill 

"No,  cousin/'  said  Pierrette,  startled. 

"Then  why  have  you  a  light  in  your  room  at  midnight? 
Open  your  door.   I  must  know  what  you  are  about." 

Pierrette,  barefoot,  opened  the  door,  and  Sylvie  saw  the 
skein  of  twine  which  Pierrette,  never  dreaming  of  being 
caught,  had  neglected  to  put  away.    Sylvie  pounced  upon  it. 

"What  do  you  use  that  for  ?" 

"Nothing,  cousin." 

"Nothing?"  said  she.  "Very  good.  Lies  again!  You  will 
not  find  that  the  way  to  heaven.   Go  to  bed ;  you  are  cold." 

She  asked  no  more,  but  disappeared,  leaving  Pierrette  ter- 
ror-stricken by  such  leniency.  Instead  of  an  outbreak,  Sylvie 
had  suddenly  made  up  her  mind  to  steal  a  march  on  the 
Colonel  and  Pierrette,  to  possess  herself  of  the  letters,  and 
confound  the  couple  who  were  deceiving  her.  Pierrette,  in- 
spired by  danger,  put  the  two  letters  inside  her  stays  and 
covered  them  with  calico. 

This  was  the  end  of  the  loves  of  Pierrette  and  Brigaut. 

Pierrette  was  glad  of  her  friend's  decision,  for  Sylvie's  sus- 
picions would  be  disconcerted  by  having  nothing  to  feed  on. 
And,  in  fact,  Sylvie  spent  three  nights  out  of  her  bed  and 
three  evenings  in  watching  the  innocent  Colonel,  without  dis- 
covering anything  in  Pierrette's  room,  or  in  the  house  or  out 
of  it,  that  hinted  at  their  having  any  understanding.  She 
sent  Pierrette  to  confession,  and  took  advantage  of  her  ab- 
sence to  hunt  through  everything  in  the  child's  room  as  dex- 
terously and  as  keenly  as  the  spies  and  searchers  at  the  gates 
of  Paris.  She  found  nothing.  Her  rage  rose  to  the  climax 
of  human  passion.  If  Pierrette  had  been  present,  she  would 
certainly  have  beaten  her  without  ruth.  To  a  woman  of 
this  temper,  jealousy  was  not  so  much  a  feeling  as  a  posses- 
sion; she  breathed,  she  felt  her  heart  beat,  she  had  emotions 
in  a  way  hitherto  completely  unknown  to  her;  at  the  least 
movement  she  was  on  the  alert,  she  listened  to  the  faintest 
sounds,  she  watched  Pierrette  with  gloomy  concentration. 


294 


PIERRETTE 


'^That  little  wretch  will  be  the  death  of  me she  would  say. 

Sylvie's  severity  to  the  child  became  at  last  the  most  re- 
fined cruelty,  and  aggravated  the  miserable  state  in  which 
Pierrette  lived.  The  poor  little  thing  was  constantly  in  a 
fever,  and  the  pain  in  her  head  became  intolerable.  By  the 
end  of  a  week  she  displayed  to  the  frequenters  of  the  Ko- 
grons'  house  a  face  of  suffering  which  must  certainly  have 
softened  any  less  cruel  egotism;  but  Doctor  Neraud,  advised 
perhaps  by  Vinet,  did  not  call  for  more  than  a  week.  The 
Colonel,  suspected  by  Sylvie,  was  afraid  she  might  break  off 
their  marriage  if  he  showed  the  smallest  anxiety  about  Pier- 
rette; Bathilde  accounted  for  her  indisposition  by  simple 
causes,  in  no  way  dangerous. 

At  last,  one  Sunday  evening,  when  the  drawing-room  was 
full  of  company,  Pierrette  could  not  endure  the  pain;  she 
fainted  completely  away ;  and  the  Colonel,  who  was  the  first  to 
observe  that  she  had  lost  consciousness,  lifted  her  up  and  car- 
ried her  on  to  a  sofa. 

"She  did  it  on  purpose,"  said  Sylvie,  looking  at  Made- 
moiselle Habert  and  the  other  players. 

"Your  cousin  is  very  ill,  I  assure  you,"  said  the  Colonel. 

"She  was  very  well  in  your  arms,"  retorted  Sylvie,  with  a 
hideous  smile. 

"The  Colonel  is  right,"  said  Madame  de  Chargeboeuf ;  "you 
ought  to  send  for  a  doctor.  This  morning  in  church  every 
one  was  talking  of  Mademoiselle  Lorrain's  state  as  they  came 
out — it  is  obvious." 

"I  am  dying,"  said  Pierrette. 

Desfondrilles  called  to  Sylvie  to  unfasten  the  girl's  frock. 
Sylvie  complied,  saying,  "It  is  all  a  sham !" 

She  undid  the  dress,  and  was  going  to  loosen  the  stays. 
Then  Pierrette  found  superhuman  strength;  she  sat  up,  and 
exclaimed,  "No,  no;  I  will  go  to  bed." 

Sylvie  had  touched  her  stays,  and  had  felt  the  papers. 
She  allowed  Pierrette  to  escape,  saying  to  everybody,  "Well, 
do  you  think  she  is  so  very  ill?  It  is  all  put  on;  you  could 
never  imagine  the  naughtiness  of  that  child." 


PIERRETTE 


295 


She  detained  Vinet  at  the  end  of  the  evening;  she  was 
furious,  she  was  bent  on  revenge;  she  was  rough  with  the 
Colonel  as  he  bid  her  good-night.  Gouraud  shot  a  glance  at 
Vinet  that  seenid  to  pierce  him  to  the  very  bowels,  and  mark 
the  spot  for  a  bullet.  Sylvie  begged  Vinet  to  remain.  When 
they  were  alone,  the  old  maid  began : 

"Never  in  my  life,  nor  in  all  my  days,  will  I  marry  the 
Colonel  r 

"Now  that  you  have  made  up  your  mind,  I  may  speak. 
The  Colonel  is  my  friend ;  still,  I  am  yours  rather  than  his. 
Eogron  has  done  me  services  I  can  never  forget.  I  am  as 
firm  a  friend  as  I  am  an  implacable  enemy.  Certainly,  when 
once  I  am  in  the  Chamber  you  will  see  how  I  shall  rise,  and 
I  will  make  Eogron  a  Receiver-General. — Well,  swear  to  me 
never  to  repeat  a  word  of  our  conversation Sylvie  nodded 
assent.  "In  the  first  place,  our  gallant  Colonel  is  an  invet- 
erate gambler.'' 

"Indeed  r  said  Sylvie. 

"But  for  the  difficulties  this  passion  has  got  him  into,  he 
might  perhaps  have  been  a  Marshal  of  France,"  the  lawyer 
went  on.  "So  he  might  squander  all  your  fortune.  But  he 
is  a  deep  customer.  Do  not  believe  that  married  people  have 
♦r  have  not  children,  and  you  know  what  will  happen  to  you. 
N"o.  If  you  wish  to  marry,  wait  till  I  am  in  the  Chamber, 
•rind  then  you  can  marry  old  Desfondrilles,  who  will  be  presi- 
dent of  the  Court  here.  To  revenge  yourself,  make  your 
brother  marry  Mademoiselle  de  Chargeboeuf;  I  will  under- 
take to  get  her  consent ;  she  will  have  two  thousand  francs  a 
year,  and  you  will  be  as  nearly  connected  with  the  Charge- 
boeuf s  as  I  am.  Take  my  word  for  it,  the  Chargeboeuf s  will 
call  us  cousins  some  day.'^ 

"Gouraud  is  in  love  with  Pierrette,"  replied  Sylvie. 

"He  is  quite  capable  of  it,"  said  Vinet ;  "and  quite  capable 
of  marrying  her  after  your  death." 

"A  pretty  little  scheme !"  said  she. 

"I  tell  you  he  is  as  cunning  as  the  devil.  Make  your 
brother  marry,  and  announce  that  you  intend  to  remain  un- 


296 


PIERRETTE 


married  and  leave  your  money  to  your  nephews  or  nieces*, 
you  will  thus  hit  Pierrette  and  Gouraud  by  the  same  blow,  and 
you  will  see  how  foolish  he  will  look.'^ 

"To  be  sure/'  cried  the  old  maid ;  "I  can  catch  them.  She 
shall  go  into  a  shop,  and  will  have  nothing.  She  has  not  a 
penny.   Let  her  do  as  we  did,  and  work.'* 

Vinet  having  got  his  idea  into  Sylvie's  head,  and  knowing 
her  obstinacy,  left  the  house.  The  old  maid  ended  by  think- 
ing that  the  plan  was  her  own. 

Vinet  found  the  Colonel  outside,  smoking  a  cigar  while 
he  waited  for  him. 

"Hold  hard !"  said  the  Colonel.  "You  have  pulled  me  to 
pieces,  but  there  are  stones  enough  in  the  ruins  to  bury  vou.'' 

"Colonel  r 

"There  is  no  *^ColoneF  in  the  case.   I  am  going  to  lead  you 
a  dance.   In  the  first  place,  you  will  never  be  deputy— — " 
"Colonel  r 

"I  can  command  ten  votes,  and  the  election  depends 
on  

"Colonel,  just  listen  to  me.  Is  there  no  one  in  the  world 
but  old  Sylvie?  I  have  just  been  trying  to  clear  you.  You 
are  accused  and  proved  guilty  of  writing  to  Pierrette;  she 
has  seen  you  coming  out  of  your  house  at  midnight  to  stand 
below  the  girl's  window  " 

"Well  imagined !" 

"She  means  her  brother  to  marry  Bathilde,  and  will  keep 

her  fortune  for  their  children." 
"Will  Eogron  have  any?" 

"Yes,"  said  Vinet.  "But  I  promise  to  find  you  a  young 
and  agreeable  woman  with  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand 
francs. — Are  you  mad?  Can  you  and  I  afford  to  quarrel? 
Things  have  turned  against  you  in  spite  of  me;  but  you  do 
not  know  me." 

"Well,  we  must  learn  to  know  each  other,"  replied  the 
Colonel.  "Get  me  a  wife  with  fifty  thousand  crowns  before 
the  elections — otherwise,  your  servant.  I  do  not  like  awk- 
ward bedfellows,  and  you  have  pulled  all  the  blankets  to 
your  side.  Good-night." 


PIERRETTE 


291 


"You  will  see/'  said  Vinet,  shaking  hands  affectionately 
with  the  Colonel. 

At  about  one  in  the  morning  tliree  clear,  low  hoots,  like 
those  of  an  owl,  admirably  mimicked,  sounded  in  the  Place; 
Pierrette  heard  them  in  her  fevered  sleep.  She  got  up,  quite 
damp,  opened  her  window,  saw  Brigaut,  and  threw  out  a  ball 
of  silk,  to  which  he  tied  a  letter. 

Sylvie,  excited  by  the  events  of  the  evening  and  her  own 
deliberations,  was  not  asleep;  she  was  taken  in  by  the  owFs 
cry. 

"^^Ah!  what  a  bird  of  ill-omen! — But,  hark!  Pierrette  is 
out  of  bed.   What  does  she  want?" 

On  hearing  the  attic  window  open,  Sylvie  rushed  to  her 
own  window  and  heard  Brigaut 's  paper  rustle  against  the 
\ihutters.  She  tied  her  jacket  strings,  and  nimbly  mounted 
the  stairs  to  Pierrette's  room;  she  found  her  untying  the 
silk  from  round  the  letter. 

"So  I  have  caught  you !"  cried  the  old  maid,  going  to  the 
window,  whence  she  saw  Brigaut  take  to  his  heels.  "Give  me 
that  letter." 

"No,  cousin,"  said  the  girl,  who,  by  one  of  the  stupendous 
inspirations  of  youth,  and  sustained  by  her  spirit,  rose  to  the 
dignity  of  resistance  which  we  admire  in  the  history  of  some 
nations  reduced  to  desperation. 

"What,  you  will  not?"  cried  Sylvie,  advancing  on  her 
cousin,  and  showing  her  a  hideous  face  full  of  hatred,  and 
distorted  by  rage. 

Pierrette  drew 'back  a  step  or  two  to  have  time  to  clutch 
her  letter  in  her  hand,  which  she  kept  shut  with  invincible 
strength.  On  seeing  this,  Sylvie  seized  Pierrette's  delicate 
white  hand  in  her  lobster's  claws.,  and  tried  to  wrench  it 
open.  It  was  a  fearful  struggle,  an  infamous  struggle,  as 
everything  is  that  dares  to  attack  thought,  the  only  treasure 
that  God  has  set  beyond  the  reach  of  power,  and  keeps  as  a 
secret  bond  between  the  wretched  and  Him. self. 

The  two  women,  one  dying,  the  other  full  of  vigor,  looked 
steadfastly  at  each  other.    Pierrette's  eyes  flashed  at  her 


2^8 


PIERRETTE 


torturer  such  a  look  as  the  Templar's  who  received  on  his 
breast  the  blows  from  a  mace  in  the  presence  of  Philippe 
le  Bel.  The  King  could  not  endure  that  fearful  gleam,  and 
retired  appalled  by  it ;  Sylvie,  a  woman,  and  a  jealous  woman, 
answered  that  magnetic  glance  by  an  ominous  glare.  Awful 
silence  reigned.  The  Bretonne's  clenched  fingers  resisted  her 
cousin's  efforts  with  the  tenacity  of  a  steel  vice.  Sylvie 
wrung  Pierrette's  arm,  and  tried  to  open  her  hand;  as  this 
had  no  effect,  she  vainly  set  her  nails  in  the  flesh.  Finally, 
madness  reinforced  her  anger;  she  raised  Pierrette's  fist  to 
her  teeth  to  bite  her  fingers  and  subdue  her  by  pain.  Pierretti^ 
still  defied  her  with  the  terrifying  gaze  of  innocence.  The 
old  maid^s  fury  was  roused  to  such  a  pitch  that  she  was 
blind  to  all  else ;  gripping  Pierrette's  arm,  she  beat  the  girl's 
list  on  the  window-sill,  and  on  the  marble  chimney-piece, 
as  we  beat  a  nut  to  crack  it  and  get  at  the  kernel." 

^^Help,  help !"  cried  Pierrette ;  "I  am  being  killed." 

"So  you  scream,  do  you,  when  I  find  you  with  a  lover  in  the 
middle  of  the  night?" 

And  she  hit  again  and  again  without  mercy. 

''Help,  help !"  cried  Pierrette,  whose  fist  was  bleeding. 

At  this  moment  there  were  violent  blows  on  the  street 
door.   Both  equally  exhausted,  the  two  women  ceased. 

Eogron,  aroused  and  anxious,  not  knowing  what  was  hap- 
pening, had  got  out  of  bed,  gone  to  his  sister's  room,  and 
not  found  her;  then  he  was  alarmed,  went  down  and  opened 
the  door,  and  was  almost  upset  by  Brigaut,  followed  by  what 
seemed  a  phantom. 

At  the  same  instant  Sylvie's  eyes  fell  on  Pierrette's  stays; 
she  remembered  having  felt  the  papers  in  them;  she  threw 
herself  on  them  like  a  tiger  on  his  prey,  twisted  the  stays 
round  her  hand,  and  held  them  up  with  a  smile,  as  an 
Iroquois  smiles  at  his  foe  before  scalping  him. 

"I  am  dying  "  said  Pierrette,  dropping  on  her  knees. 

"Who  will  save  me?" 

"I  will,"  cried  a  woman  with  white  hair,  turning  on  Pier- 
rette an  aged,  parchment  face  in  which  a  pair  of  gray  eye« 
sparkle. 


PIERRETTE 


299 


'^Ah,  grandmother,  you  have  come  too  late !"  cried  the  poor 
child,  melting  into  tears. 

Pierrette  went  to  fall  on  her  bed,  bereft  of  all  her  strength, 
and  half  killed  by  the  reaction,  which  in  a  sick  girl  was  in- 
evitable after  such  a  violent  struggle.  The  tall  withered 
apparition  took  her  in  her  arms  as  a  nurse  takes  a  child,  and 
went  out,  followed  by  Brigaut,  without  saying  a  word  to 
Sylvie,  at  whom,  by  a  tragic  glance,  she  hurled  majestic 
accusation.  The  sight  of  this  dignified  old  woman  in  her 
Breton  costume,  shrouded  in  her  coiffe,  which  is  a  sort  of 
long  cloak  made  of  black  cloth,  and  accompanied  by  the 
terrible  Brigaut,  appalled  Sylvie:  she  felt  as  if  she  had  seen 
death. 

She  went  downstairs,  heard  the  door  shut,  and  found  her- 
self face  to  face  with  her  brother,  who  said  to  her,  "They 
have  not  killed  you  then?" 

"Go  to  bed,"  said  Sylvie.  "To-morrow  morning  we  will 
,see  what  is  to  be  done." 

She  got  into  bed  again,,  unpicked  the  stays,  and  read  Bri- 
gands two  letters,  which  utterly  confounded  her.  She  went 
to  sleep  in  the  strangest  perplexity,  never  dreaming  of  the 
terrible  legal  action  to  which  her  conduct  was  to  give  rise. 

Brigaut^s  letter  to  the  widow  Lorrain  had  found  her  in  the 
greatest  joy,  which  was  chequered  when  she  read  it.  The  poor 
old  woman,  now  past  seventy,  had  been  dying  of  grief  at 
having  to  live  without  Pierrette  at  her  side;  she  only  com- 
forted herself  for  her  loss  by  the  belief  that  she  had  sacrificed 
herself  to  her  grandchild's  interests.  She  had  one  of  those 
ever  young  hearts  to  which  self-sacrifice  gives  strength  and 
vitality.  Her  old  husband,  whose  only  joy  Pierrette  had  been, 
had  grieved  for  the  child;  day  after  day  he  had  looked  for 
her  and  missed  her.  It  was  an  old  man's  sorrow ;  the  sorrow- 
old  men  live  on^  and  die  of  at  last. 

Everybody  can  therefore  imagine  the  joy  felt  by  this  poor 
woman,  shut  up  in  an  almshouse,  on  hearing  of  one  of  those 
actions  which,  though  rare,  still  are  heard  of  in  France. 


300 


PIERRETTE 


After  his  failure  Frangois  Joseph  Collinet,  the  head  of 
the  house  of  Collinet,  sailed  for  x^merica  with  his  children. 
He  was  a  man  of  too  much  good  feeling  to  sit  down  at 
Nantes,  ruined  and  bereft  of  credit,  in  the  midst  of  the  dis- 
asters caused  by  his  bankruptcy.  From  1814  till  1824  this 
brave  merchant,  helped  by  his  children  and  by  his  cashier, 
who  remained  faithful  to  him,  and  lent  him  the  money  to  start 
again,  valiantly  worked  to  make  a  second  fortune.  After 
incredible  efforts,  that  were  crowned  by  success,  by  the 
eleventh  year  he  was  able  to  return  to  Nantes  and  rehabilitate 
himself,  leaving  his  eldest  son  at  the  head  of  the  American 
house.  He  found  Madame  Lorrain  of  Pen-Hoel  at  Saint- 
JacqueSj  and  beheld  the  resignation  with  which  the  most 
hapless  of  his  fellow-victims  endured  her  penury. 

'^God  forgive  you!"  said  the  old  woman,  "since  you  give 
me  on  the  brink  of  the  grave  the  means  of  securing  my  grand- 
child's happiness.  I,  alas !  can  never  see  my  poor  old  man's 
credit  re-established.'' 

Monsieur  Collinet  had  brought  to  his  creditor  her  capita] 
and  interest  at  trade  rates,  altogether  about  forty-two  thou- 
sand francs.  His  other  creditors,  active,  wealthy,  and  capable 
men,  had  kept  themselves  above  water,  while  the  Lorrains' 
overthrow  had  seemed  to  old  Collinet  irremediable;  he  had 
now  promised  the  widow  that  he  would  rehabilitate  her  hus- 
band's good  name,  finding  that  it  would  involve  an  expendi- 
ture of  only  about  forty  thousand  francs  more.  When  this 
act  of  generous  restitution  became  known  on  'Change  at 
Nantes,  the  authorities  were  eager  to  re-open  its  doors  to 
Collinet  before  he  had  surrendered  to  the  Court  at  Eennes; 
but  the  merchant  declined  the  honor,  and  submitted  to  all  the 
rigor  of  the  Commercial  Code. 

Madame  Lorrain,  then,  had  received  forty-two  thousand 
francs  the  day  before  the  post  brought  her  Brigaut's  letters. 
As  she  signed  her  receipt,  her  first  words  were: 

"Now  I  can  live  with  my  Pierrette,  and  let  her  marry  poor 
Brigaut,  who  will  make  a  fortune  out  of  my  money !" 

She  could  not  sit  still;  she  fussed  and  fidgeted,  and  wanted 


PIERRETTE 


SOI 


to  set  out  for  Provins.  And  when,  she  had  read  the  fatal 
letters,  she  rushed  out  into  the  town  like  a  mad  thing,  asking 
how  she  could  get  to  Provins  with  the  swiftness  of  lightning. 
She  set  out  by  mail  when  she  heard  of  the  Governmental 
rapidity  of  that  conveyance.  From  Paris  she  took  the  Troyes 
coach;  she  had  arrived  at  eleven  that  evening  at  Frappier's, 
where  Brigaut,  seeing  the  old  Bretonne's  deep  despair,  at  once 
promised  to  fetch  her  granddaughter,  after  describing  Pier> 
rette's  state  in  a  few  words.  Those  few  words  so  alarmed  the 
old  woman  that  she  could  not  control  her  impatience;  she 
ran  out  to  the  Square.  When  Pierrette  screamed,  her  grand- 
mother's heart  was  pierced  by  the  ciy  as  keenly  as  was 
Brigaut's.  The  two  together  would  no  doubt  have  roused  all 
the  inhabitants,  if  Eogron,  in  sheer  terror,  had  not  opened 
the  door.  This  cry  of  a  girl  in  extremity  filled  the  old  woman 
with  strength  as  great  as  her  horror;  she  carried  her  dear 
Pierrette  all  the  way  to  Frappier's,  where  his  wife  had  hastily 
arranged  Brigaut's  room  for  Pierrette's  grandmother.  So 
in  this  miserable  lodging,  on  a  bed  scarcely  made,  they  laid 
the  poor  child;  she  fainted  away,  still  keeping  her  hand 
closed,  bruised  and  bleeding  as  it  was,  her  nails  set  in  the 
flesh.  Brigaut,  Frappier,  his  wife,  and  the  woman  con- 
templated Pierrette  in  silence,  all  lost  in  unutterable  aston- 
ishment. 

"Why  is  her  hand  covered  with  blood?"  was  the  grand- 
mother's first  question. 

Pierrette,  overcome  by  the  sleep  which  follows  such  an 
extreme  exertion  of  strength,  and  knowing  that  she  was  safe 
from  any  violence,  relaxed  her  fingers.  Brigaut's  letter  fell 
out  as  an  answer. 

"They  wanted  to  get  my  letter,"  said  Brigaut,  falling  on 
his  knees  and  picking  up  the  note  he  had  written,  desiring 
his  little  friend  to  steal  softly  out  of  the  Kogrons'  house. 
He  piously  kissed  the  little  martyr's  hand. 

Then  there  was  a  thing  wliieh  made  the  joiners  shud- 
der: it  was  the  sight  of  old  Madame  Lorrain,  a  sublime 
spectre,  standing  by  her  child's  bedside.   Horror  and  venge- 


PIERRETTE 


anee  fired  mth  fierce  expression  the  myriad  wrinkles  that 
furrowed  her  skin  of  ivory  yellow;  on  her  brow,  shaded  by 
thin  gray  locks,  sat  divine  wrath.  With  the  powerful  in- 
tuition granted  to  the  aged  as  they  approach  the  tomb,  she 
read  all  Pierrette's  life,  of  which  indeed  she  had  been  think- 
ing all  the  way  she  had  come. 

She  understood  the  malady  that  threatened  the  life  of  her 
darling.  Two  large  tears  gathered  painfully  in  her  gray- 
and-white  eyes,  which  sorrow  had  robbed  of  lashes  and  eye- 
brows; two  beads  of  grief  that  gave  a  fearful  moisture  to 
those  eyes,  and  swelled  and  rolled  over  those  withered  cheeks 
without  wetting  them. 

^^They  have  killed  her!"  she  said  at  last,  clasping  her 
hands. 

She  dropped  on  her  knees,  which  hit  two  sharp  blows  on  the 
floor;  she  was  making  a  vow,  no  doubt^  to  Sainte-Anne 
d'Auray,  the  most  powerful  Madonna  of  Brittany. 

"A  doctor  from  Paris,"  she  next  said  to  Brigaut.  "Fly 
there,  Brigaut.   Go !" 

She  took  the  artisan  by  the  shoulders  and  turned  him  round 
with  a  despotic  gesture. 

"I  was  coming  at  any  rate,  my  good  Brigaut,"  she  said, 
calling  him  back.  "I  am  rich. — Here  !"  She  untied  the  ribbon 
that  fastened  her  bodice  across  her  bosom,  took  out  a  paper, 
in  which  were  wrapped  forty-two  banknotes,  and  said,  "Take 
as  much  as  you  need;  bring  back  the  greatest  doctor  in  Paris." 

"Keep  that,"  said  Frappier;  "he  could  not  change  a  bank- 
note at  this  hour.  I  have  money;  the  diligence  will  pass 
presently,  he  will  be  sure  to  find  a  place  in  it.  But  would 
it  not  be  better  first  to  consult  Monsieur  Martener,  who  will 
give  us  the  name  of  a  Paris  physician  ?  The  diligence  is  not 
due  for  an  hour;  we  have  plenty  of  time." 

Brigaut  went  off  to  rouse  Monsieur  Martener.  He  brought 
the  doctor  back  with  him,  not  a  little  surprised  to  find  Made- 
moiselle Lorrain  at  Fra.ppier's.  Brigaut  described  to  him 
the  scene  that  had  just  taken  place  at  the  Rogrons'.  The 
loquacity  of  a  despairing  lover  threw  light  on  this  domestic 


PIERRETTE 


303 


arama^  though  the  doctor  could  not  suspect  its  horrors  or  its 
extent.  Martener  gave  Brigaut  the  address  of  the  famous 
Horace  Bianchon,  and  Jacques  and  his  master  left  the  room 
an  hearing  the  approach  of  the  diligence. 

Monsieur  Martener  sat  down,  and  began  by  examining  the 
bruises  and  wounds  on  the  girl's  hand,  which  hung  out  of 
bed. 

^^She  did  not  hurt  herself  in  such  a  way/'  said  he. 

"No,  the  dreadful  creature  I  was  so  unhappy  as  to  trust 
her  with  was  torturing  her,"  said  the  grandmother.  "My 
poor  Pierrette  was  crying  out,  '^Ilelp !  Murder !'  It  was 
enough  to  touch  the  heart  of  an  executioner." 

"But  why?"  said  the  doctor,  feeling  Pierrette's  pulse. 
"She  is  very  ill,"  he  went  on,  bringing  the  light  close  to  the 
bed.  "We  shall  hardly  save  her,"  said  he,  after  looking  at 
her  face.  "She  must  have  suffered  terribly,  and  I  cannot 
"understand  their  having  left  her  without  care." 

"It  is  my  intention,"  said  the  old  woman,  "to  appeal  to 
justice.  Had  these  people,  who  wrote  to  ask  me  for  my  grand- 
daughter, saying  that  they  had  twelve  thousand  francs  a  year, 
any  right  to  make  her  their  cook  and  give  her  work  far  be- 
yond her  strength?" 

"They  did  not  choose  to  see  that  she  was  obviously  suffer- 
ing from  one  of  the  ailments  to  which  young  girls  are  some- 
times subject,  and  needed  the  greatest  care !"  cried  Monsieur 
Martener. 

Pierrette  was  roused,  partly  by  the  light  held  by  Madame 
Frappier  so  as  to  show  her  face  more  clearly,  and  partly  by 
the  dreadful  pain  in  her  head,  caused  by  reactionary  collapse 
after  her  struggle. 

"Oh,  Monsieur  Martener,  I  am  very  ill,"  said  she,  in  her 
pretty  voice. 

"Where  is  the  pain,  my  child?"  said  the  doctor. 
"There,"  she  replied,  pointing  to  a  spot  on  her  head  above 
the  left  ear. 

"There  is  an  abscess !"  cried  the  doctor,  after  feeling  Pier- 
rette's head  for  some  time,  and  questioning  her  as  to  the  pain. 


304 


PIERRETTE 


"You  must  tell  us  everything,  my  dear,  to  enable  ns  to  cure 
you.  Why  is  your  hand  in  this  state?  You  did  not  injure 
it  like  this  yourself?" 

Pierrette  artlessly  told  the  tale  of  her  struggle  with  her 
cousin  Sylvie. 

'^Make  her  talk  to  you,"  said  the  doctor  to  her  grand- 
mother, "and  learn  all  about  it.  I  will  wait  till  the  surgeon 
arrives  from  Paris,  and  we  will  call  in  the  head  surgeon  of 
the  hospital  for  a  consultation.  It  seems  to  me  very  serious. 
I  will  send  a  soothing  draught  to  give  Mademoiselle  some 
sleep.    She  needs  rest." 

The  old  Bretonne,  left  alone  v^ith  her  grandchild,  made  her 
tell  everything,  by  exerting  her  influence  over  her,  and  ex- 
plaining to  her  that  she  was  rich  enough  for  all  three,  so 
that  Brigaut  need  never  leave  them.  The  poor  child  con- 
fessed all  her  sufferings,  never  dreaming  of  the  lawsuit  she 
was  leading  up  to.  The  monstrous  conduct  of  these  two 
loveless  beings,  who  knew  nothing  of  family  affection,  re- 
vealed to  the  old  woman  worlds  of  torment,  as  far  from  her 
conception  as  the  manners  of  the  savage  tribes  must  have 
been  to  the  first  travelers  who  penetrated  the  sivannas  of 
America. 

Her  grandmother's  presence,  and  the  certainty  of  living 
with  her  for  the  future  in  perfect  ease,  lulled  Pierrette's 
mind  as  the  draught  lulled  her  body.  The  old  woman 
watched  by  her,  kissing  her  brow,  hair,  and  hands,  as  the 
holy  women  may  have  kissed  Jesus  while  laying  Him  in  the 
sepulchre. 

By  nine  in  the  morning  Monsieur  Martener  went  to  the 
'  President  of  the  Courts,  and  related  to  him  the  scene  of  tli  j 
^  past  night  between  Sylvie  and  Pierrette,  the  moral  and 
physical  torture,  the  cruelty  of  every  kind  inflicted  by  the 
Eogrons  on  their  ward,  and  the  two  fatal  maladies  v/hich  had 
been  developed  by  this  ill-usage.  The  President  sent  for  the 
notary.  Monsieur  Auffray,  a  connection  of  Pierrette's  on  her 
mother's  side. 


PI  BURETTE 


305 


At  this  moment  the  war  between  the  Vinet  party  and  the 
Tiphaine  party  was  at  its  height.  The  gossip  circulated 
in  Provins  by  the  Eogrons  and  their  adherents  as  to  the 
well-known  liaison  between  Madame  Roguin  and  du  Tillct 
the  banker,  and  the  circumstances  of  Monsieur  Roguin's 
bankruptcy — Madame  Tiphaine's  father  was  said  to  have 
committed  forgery — hit  all  the  more  surely  because,  though 
it  was  scandal,  it  was  not  calumny.  Such  wounds  pierce  to 
the  bottom  of  things;  they  attacked  self-interest  in  its  most 
vital  part.  These  statements,  repeated  to  the  partisans  of 
Tiphaine  by  the  same  speakers  who  also  reported  to  the 
Rogrons  all  the  sarcasms  uttered  by  the  "beautiful  Madame 
Tiphaine'^  and  her  friends,  added  fuel  to  their  hatred,  com- 
plicated as  it  was  with  political  feeling. 

The  irritation  caused  in  France  at  that  time  by  party 
spirit,  which  had  waxed  excessively  violent,  was  everywhere 
bound  up,  as  it  was  at  Provins,  with  imperiled  interests  and 
offended  with  antagonistic  private  feelings.  Each  coterie 
eagerly  pounced  on  anything  that  might  damage  its  rival. 
Party  animosity  was  not  less  implicated  than  personal  conceit 
in  even  trivial  questions,  which  were  often  carried  to  great 
lengths.  A  whole  town  threw  itself  in  some  dispute,  raising 
it  to  the  dignity  of  a  political  contest.  And  so  the  President 
discerned,  in  the  action  between  Pierrette  and  the  Rogrons, 
a  means  of  confuting,  discrediting,  and  humiliating  the 
owners  of  that  drawing-room  where  plots  were  hatched 
against  the  monarchy,  and  where  the  Opposition  newspaper 
had  had  its  birth. 

He  sent  for  the  public  prosecutor.  Then  Monsieur  Lesourd, 
Monsieur  Auffray  the  notary — appointed  the  legal  guardian 
of  Pierrette — and  the  President  of  the  Court  discussed  in  the 
greatest  privacy,  with  Monsieur  Martener,  v/hat  steps  could 
be  taken.  The  legal  guardian  was  to  call  a  family  council 
(a  formality  of  French  law),  and,  armed  with  the. evidence 
of  the  three  medical  men,  would  demand  the  dismissal  of 
Rogron  from  his  guardianship.  The  case  thus  formulated 
would  be  brought  before  the  tribunal,  and  then  Monsieur 


306 


Lesourd  would  get  it  carried  into  the  Criminal  Court  by  de- 
manding an  inquiry. 

By  mid-day  all  Provins  was  in  a  stir  over  the  strange  re- 
ports of  what  had  taken  place  at  the  Kogrons'  in  the  course 
of  the  past  night.  Pierrette's  screams  had  been  remotely 
heard  in  the  Square,  but  they  had  not  lasted  long;  no  one 
had  got  up;  but  everybody  had  asked  in  the  morning,  "Did 
you  hear  the  noise  and  screaming  at  about  one  o'clock  ?  What 
was  it?"  Gossip  and  comment  had  given  such  magnitude  to 
the  horrible  drama  that  a  crowd  collected  in  front  of  Frap- 
pier's  shop,  everybody  cross-questioning  the  honest  joiner, 
who  described  the  girl's  arrival  at  his  house  with  her  hand 
bleeding  and  her  fingers  mangled. 

At  about  one  in  the  afternoon  a  post-chaise,  containing 
Doctor  Bianchon,  by  whom  sat  Brigaut,  stopped  at  Frappier's 
door,  and  Madame  Frappier  went  off  to  the  hospital  to  fetcli 
Monsieur  Martener  and  the  head  surgeon.  Thus  the  reports 
heard  in  the  town  received  confirmation. 

The  Kogrons  were  accused  of  having  intentionally  mal- 
treated their  young  cousin,  and  endangered  her  life.  The 
news  reached  Vinet  at  the  Law  Courts;  he  left  his  business 
and  hurried  to  the  Eogrons'.  Eogron  and  his  sister  had  just 
finished  breakfast.  Sylvie  had  avoided  telling  her  brother 
of  her  defeat  during  the  night;  she  allowed  him  to  question 
her,  making  no  reply  but :  "It  does  not  concern  you."  And 
she  bustled  to  and  fro  between  the  kitchen  and  dining-room 
to  avoid  all  discussion. 

She  was  alone  when  Vinet  walked  in. 

"Do  you  know  nothing  of  what  is  going  on?"  asked  the 
lawyer. 

"No,"  said  Sylvie. 

"You  are  going  to  have  a  criminal  action  brought  against 
you  for  the  way  in  which  matters  stand  with  Pierrette." 

"A  criminal  action!"  said  Eogron,  coming  in.  "Why? 
What  for?" 

"In  the  first  place,"  said  Vinet,  looking  at  Sylvie,  "tell  me 
exactly,  without  subterfuge,  all  that  took  place  last  night, 


807 


as  though  you  were  hefore  God,  for  there  is  some  talk  of 
cutting  off  Pierrette's  hand/' 

Sylvie  turned  ashy  pale  and  shivered. 

**Then  there  was  something!"  said  the  lawyer. 

Mademoiselle  Eogron  told  the  story,  trying  to  justify  her- 
self; but  on  being  cross-questioned,  related  all  the  details  of 
the  horrible  conflict. 

"If  you  have  only  broken  her  fingers,  you  will  only  appear 
in  the  Police  Court;  but  if  her  hand  has  to  be  amputated, 
you  will  find  yourself  brought  up  at  the  Assizes.  The  Ti- 
phaines  will  do  anything  to  get  you  there." 

Sylvie,  more  dead  than  alive,  confessed  her  jealousy,  and, 
which  was  even  harder  to  bring  out,  how  her  suspicions  had 
blundered. 

"What  a  case  for  trial !"  exclaimed  Yinet.  '^ou  and  your 
brother  may  be  ruined  by  it;  you  will  be  thrown  over  by 
many  of  your  friends  even  if  you  gain  it.  If  you  do  not  come 
out  clear,  you  will  have  to  leave  Provins." 

"Oh !  my  dear  Monsieur  Vinet — you  who  are  such  an  able 
lawyer,"  cried  Eogron,  horrified,  "advise  us,  save  us !" 

Vinet  dexterously  fomented  the  fears  of  these  two  fools  to 
the  utmost,  and  declared  positively  that  Madame  and  Made- 
moiselle de  Chargeboeuf  would  hesitate  to  go  to  their  house 
again.  To  be  forsaken  by  these  two  ladies  would  be  a  fatal 
condemnation.  In  short,  after  an  hour  of  magnificent  ma- 
noeuvring, it  was  agreed  that  in  order  to  induce  Vinet  to  save 
the  Rogrons,  he  must  have  an  interest  at  stake  in  defending 
him  in  the  eyes  of  all  Provins.  In  the  course  of  the  evening 
Rogron's  engagement  to  marry  Mademoiselle  de  Chargeboeuf 
was  to  be  announced.  The  banns  were  to  be  published  on 
Sunday.  The  marriage-contract  would  at  once  be  drawn  up 
by  Cournant,  and  Mademoiselle  Eogron  would  figure  in  it 
as  abandoning,  in  consideration  of  this  alliance,  the  capital 
of  her  share  of  the  estate  by  a  deed  of  gift  to  her  brother, 
reserving  only  a  life-interest.  Vinet  impressed  on  Eogron 
and  his  sister  the  necessity  of  having  a  draft  of  this  deed 
drawn  up  two  or  three  days  before  that  event,  so  as  to  put 

21 


SOS 


PIERRETTE 


Madame  and  Mademoiselle  de  Chargeboeuf  under  the  ne- 
cessity, in  public  opinion,  of  continuing  their  visits  to  the 
Eogrons. 

"Sign  that  contract,  and  I  will  undertake  to  get  you  out  of 
the  scrape/'  said  the  lawyer.  "It  will  no  doubt  be  a  hard 
fight,  but  I  will  go  into  it  body  and  soul,  and  you  will  owe 
me  a  very  handsome  taper." 

"Yes,  indeed,"  said  Eogron. 
'  By  half-past  eleven  the  lawyer  was  empowered  to  act  for 
them,  alike  as  to  the  contract  and  as  to  the  management  of 
the  case.  At  noon  the  President  was  informed  that  a  sum- 
mons was  applied  for  by  Vinet  against  Brigaut  and  the  widow 
Lorrain  for  abducting  Pierrette  Lorrain,  a  minor,  from  the 
domicile  of  her  guardian.  Thus  the  audacious  Vinet  took 
up  the  offensive,  putting  Eogron  in  the  position  of  a  man 
having  the  law  on  his  side.  This,  indeed,  was  the  tone  in 
which  the  matter  was  commented  on  in  the  Law  Courts.  Th(3 
President  postponed  hearing  the  parties  till  four  o'clock.  The 
excitement  of  the  town  over  all  these  events  need  not  be  de- 
scribed. The  President  knew  that  the  medical  consultation 
would  be  ended  by  three  o'clock;  he  wished  that  the  legal 
guardian  should  appear  armed  with  the  physicians'  verdict. 

The  announcement  of  Eogron's  engagement  to  the  fair 
Bathilde  de  Chargeboeuf,  and  of  the  deed  of  gift  added  by 
Sylvie  to  the  contract,  promptly  made  the  Eogrons  two  ene- 
mies— Mademoiselle  Habert  and  the  Colonel,  who  thus  saw 
all  their  hopes  dashed.  Celeste  Habert  and  the  Colonel  re- 
mained ostensibly  friends  to  the  Eogrons,  but  only  to  damage 
them  more  effectually.  So,  as  soon  as  Monsieur  Martener 
spoke  of  the  existence  of  an  abscess  on  the  brain  in  the  haber- 
dashers' hapless  victim.  Celeste  and  the  Colonel  m.entioned  the 
blov/  Pierrette  had  given  herself  that  evening  when  Sylvie 
had  driven  her  out  of  the  room,  and  remembered  Made- 
moiselle Eogron's  cruel  and  barbarous  remarks.  They  related 
various  instances  of  the  old  maid's  utter  indifference  to  her 
ward's  sufferings.  Thus  these  friends  of  the  couple  admitted 
serious  wrong,  while  affecting  to  defend  Sylvie  and  her 
brother. 


PIEiniETTE 


309 


Vinet  had  foreseen  this  storm;  but  Mademoiselle  de 
Chargeboeuf  was  about  to  acquire  the  whole  of  the  llogroiis' 
foi-tuue,  and  he  promised  himself  that  in  a  few  weeks  he 
should  see  her  living  in  the  nice  house  on  the  Place,  and 
reign  conjointly  with  her  over  Provins;  for  he  was  already 
scheming  for  a  coalition  with  the  Breauteys  to  serve  his  own 
ambitions. 

From  twelve  o'clock  till  four  all  the  ladies  of  the  Tiphaine 
faction — the  Garcelands,  the  Guepins,  the  Julliards,  Mes- , 
dames  Galardon,  Guenee,  and  the  sous-prefet's  wife — all  sent 
to  inquire  after  Mademoiselle  Lorrain.  Pierrette  knew  noth- 
ing whatever  of  this  commotion  in  the  town  on  her  behalf. 
In  the  midst  of  acute  suffering  she  felt  ineffably  happy  at 
finding  herself  between  her  grandmother  and  Brigaut,  the 
objects  of  her  affection.  Brigaut's  eyes  were  constantly  full 
of  tears,  and  the  old  woman  petted  her  beloved  grandchild. 

God  knows  the  grandmother  spared  the  three  men  of  science 
none  of  the  details  she  had  heard  from  Pierrette  about  her 
life  with  the  Eogrons !  Horace  Bianchon  expressed  his  in- 
dignation in  unmeasured  terms.  Horrified  by  such  barbarity, 
he  insisted  that  the  other  doctors  of  the  town  should  be  called 
in;  so  Monsieur  Neraud  was  present,  and  was  requested,  as 
being  Kogron's  friend,  to  contradict  if  he  could  the  terrible 
inferences  derived  from  the  consultation,  which,  unfor- 
tunately for  Eogron,  were  unanimously  subscribed  to. 
Neraud,  who  was  already  credited  with  having  made  Pier- 
rette's maternal  grandmother  die  of  grief,  was  in  a  false 
position,  of  which  Martener  adroitly  took  advantage,  de- 
lighted to  overwhelm  the  Eogrons,  and  also  to  compromise 
Monsieur  Neraud,  his  antagonist.  It  is  needless  to  give  the 
text  of  this  document,  which  also  was  produced  at  the  trial. 
If  the  medical  terms  of  Moliere's  age  were  barbarous,  those 
of  modern  medicine  have  the  advantage  of  such  extreme  plain 
speaking,  that  an  account  of  Pierrette's  maladies,  though 
natural,  and  unfortunately  common,  would  shock  the  ear. 
The  verdict  was  indisputably  final,  attested  by  so  famous  a 
name  as  that  of  Horace  Bianchon. 


310 


PIERRETTE 


After  the  Court  sitting  was  over,  the  President  remained 
in  his  place,  while  Pierrette's  grandmother  came  in  with 
Monsieur  Anffra}^,  Brigaut,  and  a  considerable  crowd.  Vinet 
appeared  alone.  This  contrast  struck  the  spectators,  includ- 
ing a  vast  number  of  merely  inquisitive  persons.  Vinet,  who 
had  kept  his  gown  on,  raised  his  hard  face  to  the  President, 
settling  his  spectacles  as  he  began  in  his  harsh,  sawing  tones 
to  set  forth  that  certain  strangers  had  made  their  way  into 
the  house  of  Monsieur  and  Mademoiselle  Eogron  by  night, 
and  had  carried  away  the  girl  Lorrain,  a  minor.  Her  guar- 
dian claimed  the  protection  of  the  Court  to  recover  his  ward. 

Monsieur  Auffray,  as  the  guardian  appointed  by  the 
Court,  rose  to  speak. 

^^If  Monsieur  le  President,''  said  he,  "will  take  into  his 
consideration  this  consultation,  signed  by  one  of  the  most 
eminent  Paris  physicians,  and  by  all  the  doctors  and  sur- 
geons of  Provins,  he  will  perceive  how  unreasonable  is  Mon- 
sieur Eogron's  claim,  and  what  sufficient  reasons  induced  the 
minor's  grandmother  to  release  her  at  once  from  her  tor- 
mentors. The  facts  are  these:  A  deliberate  consultation, 
signed  unanimously  by  a  celebrated  Paris  doctor,  sent  for  in 
great  haste,  and  by  all  the  medical  authorities  of  the  town, 
ascribe  the  almost  dying  state  of  the  ward  to  the  ill-treatment 
she  had  received  at  the  hands  of  the  said  Eogron  and  his 
sister.  As  a  legal  formality  a  family  council  will  be  held, 
with  the  least  possible  delay,  and  consulted  on  the  question 
whether  the  guardian  ought  not  to  be  held  disqualified  for  his 
office.  We  petition  that  the  minor  shall  not  be  sent  back 
to  her  guardian's  house,  but  shall  be  placed  in  the  hands  of 
any  other  member  of  the  family  whom  Monsieur  le  President 
may  see  fit  to  designate." 

Vinet  wanted  to  reply,  saying  that  the  document  of  the 
:  consultation  ought  to  be  communicated  to  him  that  he  might 
contravene  it. 

"Certainly  not  to  Vinet's  side,"  said  the  President 
severely,  "but  perhaps  to  the  public  prosecutor.  The  case 
IB  closed." 


PIERRETTE 


311 


At  the  foot  of  the  petition  the  President  wrote  the  follow- 
ing injunction : 

"Inasmuch  as  that  by  a  consultation  unanimously  signed 
by  the  medical  faculty  of  this  town  and  by  Doctor  Bianchon 
of  the  medical  faculty  of  Paris,  it  is  proved  that  the  girl  Lor- 
rain,  a  minor,  claimed  by  her  guardian  Eogron,  is  in  a  very 
serious  state  of  sickness  brought  on  by  the  ill-usage  and 
cruelty  inflicted  on  her  in  the  house  of  her  guardian  and 
his  sister, 

"We,  President  of  the  Lower  Court  of  Justice  at  Provins, 
"Decree  on  the  petition,  and  enjoin  that  until  the  family 
council  shall  have  been  held  which,  as  the  provisional  guar- 
dian appointed  by  the  law  declares,  is  at  once  to  be  convened, 
the  said  minor  shall  not  re-enter  her  guardian's  residence, 
but  shall  be  transferred  to  that  of  the  guardian  appointed  by 
the  law. 

"And  in  the  second  place,  in  consideration  of  the  minor's 
present  state  of  health,  and  the  traces  of  violence  which, 
in  the  opinion  of  the  medical  men,  are  to  be  seen  on  her  per- 
son, we  commission  the  chief  physician  and  chief  surgeon  of 
the  Hospital  of  Provins  to  attend  her;  and  in  the  event  of 
the  cruelty  being  proved  to  have  been  constant,  we  reserve  all 
the  rights  and  powers  of  the  law,  without  prejudice  to  the 
civil  action  taken  by  Autfray,  the  legalized  temporary  guar- 
dian/' 

This  terrible  injunction  was  pronounced  by  Monsieur  le 
President  Tiphaine  with  a  loud  voice  and  distinct  utterance. 

"Why  not  the  hulks  at  once?"  said  Vinet.  "And  all  this 
fuss  about  a  little  girl  who  carried  on  an  intrigue  with  a 
carpenter's  apprentice!  If  this  is  the  way  the  ease  is  con- 
ducted," he  added  insolently,  "we  shall  apply  for  other  judg- 
ment on  the  plea  of  legitimate  suspicions." 

Vinet  left  the  Court,  and  went  to  the  chief  leaders  of  his 
party  to  explain  the  position  of  Rogron,  who  had  never  given 
his  little  cousin  a  finger-flip,  and  whom  the  tribunal  had 
treated,  as  he  declared,  less  as  Pierrette's  guardian  than  as  the 
chief  voter  in  Provins. 


312 


PIERRETTE 


To  hear  him,  the  Tiphaines  were  making  much  ado  about 
nothing.  The  mountain  would  bring  forth  a  mouse.  Sylvie, 
an  eminently  religious  and  well-conducted  person,  had  de- 
tected an  intrigue  between  her  brother's  ward  and  a  car- 
penter's boy,  a  Breton  named  Brigaut.  The  young  rascal 
knew  very  well  that  the  girl  would  have  a  fortune  from  her 
grandmother,  and  wanted  to  tamper  with  her.  .  .  . 
Vinet  to  talk  of  tampering !  .  .  .  Mademoiselle  Kogron, 
who  had  kept  the  letters  in  which  this  little  slut's  wickedness 
was  made  clear,  was  not  so  much  to  blame  as  the  Tiphaines 
tried  to  make  her  seem.  Even  if  she  had  been  betrayed  into 
violence  to  obtain  a  letter,  which  could  easily  be  accounted 
for  by  the  irritation  produced  in  her  by  Breton  obstinacy, 
in  what  was  Rogron  to  blame  ? 

The  lawyer  thus  made  the  action  a  party  matter,  and  con- 
trived to  give  it  political  color.  x\nd  so,  from  that  evening, 
there  were  differences  of  opinion  on  the  question. 

"If  you  hear  but  one  bell,  you  hear  but  one  note,"  said  the 
wise-heads.  "Have  you  heard  what  Vinet  has  to  say?  He 
explains  the  case  very  well." 

Frappier's  house  was  regarded  as  unsuitable  for  Pierrette 
on  account  of  the  noise,  which  would  cause  her  much  pain  in 
the  head.  Her  removal  from  thence  to  her  appointed 
guardian's  house  was  as  desirable  from  a  medical  as  from 
a  legal  point  of  view.  This  business  was  effected  with  the 
utmost  care,  and  calculated  to  make  a  great  sensation.  Pier- 
rette was  placed  on  a  stretcher  with  many  mattresses,  car- 
ried by  two  men,  escorted  by  a  Gray  Sister  holding  in  her 
hand  a  bottle  of  ether,  followed  by  her  grandmother,  Brigaut, 
Madame  Auffray,  and  her  maid.  The  people  stood  at  the 
windows  and  in  the  doors  to  see  the  little  procession  pass. 
'No  doubt  the  state  in  which  Pierrette  was  seen  and  her  death- 
like pallor  gave  immense  support  to  the  party  adverse  to  the 
Rogrons.  The  Auffravs  were  bent  on  showing  to  all  the  town 
how  right  the  President  had  been  in  pronouncing  his  in- 
junction.   Pierrette  and  her  grandmother  were  established 


PIERRETTE 


313 


on  the  second  floor  of  Monsieur  Auffray's  house.  The  notary 
and  his  wife  lavished  on  them  the  generosity  of  the  amplest 
hospitality;  they  made  a  display  of  it.  Pierrette  was  nursed 
by  her  grandmother,  and  Monsieur  Martener  came  to  see  her 
again  the  same  evening,  with  the  surgeon. 

From  that  evening  dated  much  exaggeration  on  both  sides. 
The  Rogrons'  room  was  crowded.  Vinct  liad  worked  up  the 
Liberal  faction  in  the  matter.  The  two  Chargeba3uf  ladie? 
dined  with  the  Rogrons,  for  the  marriage  contract  was  to  b(  t 
signed  forthwith.  Yinet  had  had  the  banns  put  up  at  the 
Mairie  that  morning.  He  treated  the  business  of  Pierrette 
as  a  mere  trifle.  If  the  Court  of  Provins  could  not  judge  it 
dispassionately,  the  superior  Court  would  judge  of  the  facts, 
said  he,  and  the  Auffrays  would  think  twice  before  rushing 
into  such  an  action.  Then  the  connection  between  the 
Eogrons  and  the  Chargeboeufs  was  of  immense  weight  with 
certain  people.  To  them  the  Eogrons  were  as  white  as  snow, 
and  Pierrette  an  excessively  wicked  little  girl  whom  thej  had 
cherished  in  their  bosom. 

In  Madam^e  Tiphaine's  drawing-room  vengeance  was  taken 
\m  the  horrible  scandals  the  Vinet  party  had  promulgated 
for  the  last  two  years.  The  Rogrons  were  monsters,  and  the 
guardian  would  find  himself  in  the  Criminal  Court.  In  the 
Square,  Pierrette  was  perfectly  well;  in  the  upper  town,  she 
must  infallibly  die ;  at  the  Rogrons',  she  had  a  few  scratches 
on  her  hand;  at  Madame  Tiphaine's,  she  had  her  fingers 
smashed ;  one  would  have  to  be  cut  off. 

Next  day  the  Courrier  de  Provins  had  an  extremely  clever 
article,  well  written,  a  masterpiece  of  innuendo  mixed  up 
with  legal  demurs,  which  placed  the  Rogrons  above  suspicion. 
The  Ruche,  which  came  out  two  days  later,  could  not  reply 
without  risk  of  libel ;  but  it  said  that  in  a  case  like  the  present, 
the  best  thing  was  to  leave  justice  to  take  its  course. 

The  family  council  was  constituted  by  the  Justice  of  the 
Peace  of  the  Provins  district,  as  the  legal  President,  in  the 
first  place,  of  Rogron  and  the  two  Auffrays,  Pierrette's  next- 
of-kin;  then  of  Monsieur  Ciprey,  a  nephew  of  Pierrette's 


314 


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maternal  grandmother.  He  added  to  these  Monsieur  Habert, 
the  young  girl's  director,  and  Colonel  Gouraud,  who  had 
always  given  himself  out  to  be  a  comrade  of  her  father's, 
Colonel  Lorrain.  The  Justice's  impartiality  was  hi^ghly  ap- 
plauded in  including  in  this  family  council  Monsieur  Habert 
and  the  Colonel,  whom  all  the  town  regarded  as  great  friends 
of  the  Rogrons.  In  the  difficult  position  in  v/hich  he  found 
himself,  Eogron  begged  to  be  allowed  the  support  of  Maitre 
"Vinet  on  the  occasion.  By  this  manoeuvre,  evidently  sug- 
gested by  Vinet,  he  succeeded  in  postponing  the  meeting  of 
the  family  council  till  the  end  of  December. 

At  that  date  the  President  and  his  wife  were  in  Paris,  living 
with  Madame  Roguin,  in  consequence  of  the  sitting  of  the 
Chambers.  Thus  the  Ministerial  party  at  Provins  was  bereft 
of  its  head.  Vinet  had  already  quietly  made  friends  with  the 
worthy  examining  judge.  Monsieur  Desfondrilles,  in  case 
the  business  should  assume  the  penal  or  criminal  aspect  that 
Tiphaine  had  endeavored  to  give  it. 

For  three  hours  Vinet  addressed  the  family  council;  he 
proved  an  intrigue  between  Brigaut  and  Pierrette,  to  justify 
Mademoiselle  Eogron's  severity;  he  pointed  out  how  natural 
it  was  that  the  guardian  should  have  left  his  ward  under  the 
control  of  a  woman;  he  dwelt  on  his  client's  non-interference 
in  the  mode  of  Pierrette's  education  as  conducted  by  Sylvie. 
But  in  spite  of  Vinet's  efforts,  the  meeting  unanimously  de- 
cided on  abolishing  Rogron's  guardianship.  Monsieur 
Auffray  was  appointed  Pierrette's  guardian,  and  Monsieur 
Ciprey  her  legal  guardian. 

They  heard  the  evidence  given  by  Adele  the  maid,  who 
incriminated  her  former  master  and  mistress;  by  Made- 
moiselle Habert,  who  repeated  Sylvie's  cruel  remarks  the 
evening  when  Pierrette  had  given  herself  the  dreadful  blow 
that  everybody  had  heard,  and  the  comments  on  Pierrette's 
health  made  by  Madame  de  Chargeboeuf.  Brigaut  produced 
the  letter  he  had  received  from  Pierrette,  which  established 
their  innocence.  It  was  proved  that  the  deplorable  state  in 
which  the  minor  now  was  resulted  from  the  neglect  of  her 


PlEURETTIii 


315 


guardian,  who  was  responsible  in  all  that  related  to  his  ward. 
Pierrette's  illness  had  struck  everybody,  even  persons  in  the 
town  who  did  not  know  the  family.  Thus  the  charge  of 
cruelty  against  Eogron  was  fully  sustained.  The  matter 
would  be  made  public. 

By  Vinet's  advice  Eogron  put  in  a  protest  against  the  con- 
firmation by  the  Court  of  the  decision  of  the  family  council. 
The  Minister  of  Justice  now  intervened,  in  consequence  of 
the  increasingly  critical  condition  of  Pierrette  Lorrain.  This 
singular  case,  though  put  on  the  lists  forthwith,  did  not  come 
up  for  trial  till  near  the  month  of  March  1828. 

By  that  time  the  marriage  of  Eogron  to  Mademoiselle  de 
Chargeboeuf  was  an  accomplished  fact.  Sylvie  was  living 
on  the  second  floor  of  the  house,  which  had  been  arranged  to 
accommodate  her  and  Madame  de  Chargeboeuf;  for  the  first 
floor  was  entirely  given  up  to  Madame  Eogron.  The  beautiful 
Madame  Eogron  now  succeeded  to  the  beautiful  Madame 
Tiphaine.  The  effect  of  this  marriage  was  enormous.  The 
town  no  longer  came  to  Mademoiselle  Sylvie's  salon,  but  to  the 
beautiful  Madame  Eogron's. 

Monsieur  Tiphaine,  the  President  of  the  Provins  Court, 
pushed  by  his  mother-in-law,  and  supported  by  du  Tillet 
and  by  Nucingen,  the  Eoyalist  bankers,  found  an  opportunity 
of  being  useful  to  the  Ministry.  He  was  one  of  the  most 
highly  respected  speakers  of  the  Centre,  was  made  a  judge  of 
the  Lower  Court  in  the  Seine  district,  and  got  his  nephew 
Lesourd  nominated  President  in  his  place  at  Prowns.  This 
appointment  greatly  annoyed  Monsieur  Desfondrilles,  still 
an  archaeologist,  and  more  supernumerary  than  ever.  The 
Keeper  of  the  Seals  sent  a  protege  of  his  own  to  fill  Lesourd's 
place.  Thus  Monsieur  Tiphaine's  promotion  did  not  lead  to 
any  advancement  in  the  legal  forces  at  Provins. 

Vinet  took  advantage  of  these  circumstances  very  cleverly. 
He  had  always  told  the  good  folks  of  Provins  that  they  were 
only  serving  as  a  step-ladder  to  Madame  Tiphaine's  cunning 
and  ambition.  The  President  laughed  in  his  sleeve  at  his 
friends.  Madame  Tiphaine  secretly  disdained  the  town  of 
Provins ;  she  would  never  come  back  to  it. 


316 


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Monsieur  Tiphaine  pere  presently  died;  his  son  inherited 
the  estate  of  le  Fa}^,  and  sold  his  handsome  house  in  the 
upper  town  to  Monsieur  Julliard.  This  sale  showed  how  little 
he  intended  to  eome  back  to  Provins.  Yinet  was  right! 
Yinet  had  been  a  true  prophet !  These  facts  had  no  little 
influence  on  the  action  relating  to  Kogron's  guardianship. 

The  horrible  martyrdom  so  brutally  inflicted  on  Pierrette 
by  two  imbecile  tyrants — which  led,  medically  speaking,  to 
her  being  subjected  by  Monsieur  Martener,  with  Bianchon's 
approval,  to  the  terrible  operation  of  trepanning;  the  whole 
dreadful  drama,  reduced  to  judicial  statements,  was  left 
among  the  foul  medley  known  to  lawyers  as  outstanding 
cases.  The  action  dragged  on  through  the  delays  and  inex- 
tricable intricacies  of  "proceedings,"  constantly  checked  by 
the  quibbles  of  a  contemptible  lawyer,  while  the  calumniated 
Pierrette  languished  in  suffering  from  the  most  terrible  pains 
known  to  medical  science.  We  could  not  avoid  these  details 
as  to  the  strange  variations  in  public  opinion  and  the  slow 
march  of  justice,  before  returning  to  the  room  where  she  waii 
living — where  she  was  dying. 

Monsieur  Martener  and  the  whole  of  the  Auffray  family 
were  in  a  very  few  days  completely  won  by  Pierrette's  ador- 
able temper,  and  by  the  old  Bretonne,  whose  feelings,  ideas, 
and  manners  bore  the  stamp  of  an  antique  Roman  type.  This 
matron  of  the  Marais  was  like  one  of  Plutarch's  women. 

The  doctor  desired  to  contend  with  Death,  at  least,  for  his 
prey;  for  from  the  first  the  Paris  and  provincial  physicians 
had  agreed  in  regarding  Pierrette  as  past  saving.  Then 
began  between  the  disease  and  the  doctor,  aided  by  Pierrette's 
youth,  one  of  those  struggles  which  medical  men  alone  know ; 
the  rev/ard,  in  the  event  of  success,  is  not  in  the  pecuniary 
profit,  or  even  in  the  rescued  sufferer ;  it  lies  in  sweet  satis- 
faction of  conscience,  and  in  a  sort  of  ideal  and  invisible 
palm  of  victory  gathered  by  every  true  artist  from  the  joyful 
certainty  of  having  achieved  a  fine  work.  The  physician 
makes  for  healing  as  the  artist  makes  for  the  beautiful,  urged 


PIERRETTE 


on  by  a  noble  sentiment  wliich  we  call  virtue.  This  daily 
recurring  battle  had  extinguished  in  this  man,  though  a 
provincial,  the  squalid  irritation  of  the  warfare  going  on 
between  the  Vinet  party  and  that  of  the  Tiphaines,  as  happens 
with  men  who  have  to  fight  it  out  with  great  suffering. 

Monsieur  Martener  had  at  first  wished  to  practise  his  pro- 
fession in  Paris;  but  the  activity  of  the  great  city,  the  cal- 
lousness produced  at  last  in  a  doctor's  mind  by  the  terrific 
number  of  sick  people  and  the  multitude  of  serious  cases,  had 
appalled  his  gentle  soul,  which  was  made  for  a  country  life. 
He  was  in  bondage,  too,  to  his  pretty  birthplace.  So  he  had 
come  back  to  Provins  to  marry  and  settle  there,  and  take 
almost  tender  care  of  a  population  he  could  think  of  as  a 
large  family.  All  the  time  Pierrette  was  ill  he  could  not  bear 
to  speak  of  her  illness.  His  aversion  to  reply  when  every  one 
asked  for  news  of  the  poor  child  was  so  evident,  that  at  last 
nobody  questioned  him  about  her.  Pierrette  was  to  him 
what  she  could  not  help  being — one  of  those  deep,  mysterious 
poems,  immense  in  its  misery,  such  as  occur  in  the  terrible 
life  of  a  physician.  He  had  for  this  frail  girl  an  admiration 
of  which  he  would  betray  the  secret  to  no  one. 

This  feeling  for  his  patient  was  infectious,  as  all  true  senti- 
ments are ;  Monsieur  and  Madame  Auffray's  house,  so  long  as 
Pierrette  lived  in  it,  was  peaceful  and  still.  Even  the  chil- 
dren, who  of  old  had  had  such  famous  games  with  Pierrette, 
understood,  with  childlike  grace,  that  they  were  not  to  be 
noisy  or  troublesome.  They  made  it  a  point  of  honor  to  be 
good  because  Pierrette  was  ill. 

Monsieur  Auffray's  house  is  in  the  upper  town,  below  the 
ruined  castle;  built,  indeed,  on  one  of  the  cliff-like  knolls 
formed  by  the  overthrow  of  the  old  ramparts.  From  thence 
the  residents  have  a  view  over  the  valley  as  they  walk  in  a 
little  orchard  supported  by  the  thick  walls  rising  straight  up 
from  the  lower  town„  The  roofs  of  the  houses  rise  to  the 
level  of  the  wall  that  upholds  this  garden.  Along  this  terrace 
is  a  walk  ending  at  the  glass-door  of  Monsieur  Auffray's 
study.    At  the  other  end  are  a  vine-covered  arbor  and  a  fig- 


3i3 


PIERRETTE 


tree,  sheltering  a  round  table,  a  bench,  and  some  chairs,  all 
painted  green. 

Pierrette  had  a  room  over  that  of  her  new  guardian. 
Madame  Lorrain  slept  there  on  a  camp-bed  by  her  grand- 
child's side.  From  her  window  Pierrette  could  see  the  beau- 
tiful valley  of  Provins,  which  she  hardly  knew — she  had  so 
rarely  been  out  of  the  Eogrons'  sinister  dwelling.  Whenever 
,it  was  fine,  she  liked  to  drag  herself,  on  her  grandmother's 
(arm,  as  far  as  this  arbor.  Brigaut,  who  now  did  no  work, 
came  three  times  a  day  to  see  his  little  friend;  he  was  ab- 
sorbed in  grief,  which  made  him  indifferent  to  life;  he 
watched  for  Monsieur  Martener  with  the  eagerness  of  a 
spaniel,  always  went  in  with  him  and  came  out  with  him. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  imagine  all  the  follies  every 
one  was  ready  to  commit  for  the  dear  little  invalid.  Her 
grandmother,  drunk  with  grief,  hid  her  despair;  she  showed 
the  child  the  same  smiling  face  as  at  Pen-Hoel.  In  her  wish 
to  delude  herself,  she  made  her  a  Breton  cap  such  as  Pierrette 
had  worn  when  she  came  to  Provins,  and  put  it  on  her;  the 
girl  then  looked  to  her  more  like  herself;  she  was  sweet  to 
behold,  with  her  face  framed  in  the  aureole  of  cambric  edged 
with  starched  lace.  Her  face,  as  white  as  fine  white  porce- 
lain, her  forehead  on  which  suffering  set  a  semblance  of  deep 
thoughtfulness,  the  purity  of  outline  refined  by  sickness,  the 
slowness  and  occasional  fixity  of  her  gaze,  all  made  Pierrette 
a  master-work  of  melancholy. 

The  child  was  waited  on  with  fanatical  devotion;  she  was 
so  tender,  so  loving.  Madame  Martener  had  sent  her  piano 
to  Madame  Auffray,  her  sister,  thinking  it  might  amuse  Pier- 
rette, to  whom  music  was  rapture.  It  was  a  poem  to  watch 
her  listening  to  a  piece  by  Weber,  Beethoven,  or  Herold,  her 
eyes  raised  to  heaven  in  silence,  regretting,  no  doubt,  the  life 
she  felt  slipping  from  her.  Monsieur  Peroux  the  cure  and 
'Monsieur  Habert,  her  two  priestly  comforters,  admired  her 
pious  resignation. 

Is  it  not  a  strange  fact,  worthy  of  the  attention  alike  of 
philosophers  and  of  mere  observers,  that  a  sort  of  seraphic 


PIERRETTE 


S19 


perfection  is  characteristic  of  youths  and  maidens  marked 
amid  the  crowd  with  the  red  cross  of  death,  like  saplings  in  a 
forest?  He  who  has  witnessed  such  a  death  can  never  remain 
or  become  an  infidel.  These  beings  exhale,  as  it  were,  a 
heavenly  fragrance,  their  looks  speak  of  God,  their  voice  is 
eloquent  in  the  most  trivial  speech,  and  often  sounds  like  a 
divine  instrument,  expressing  the  secrets  of  futurity.  When 
Monsieur  Martener  congratulated  Pierrette  on  having  carried 
out  some  disagreeable  prescription,  this  angel  would  say  in 
the  presence  of  all,  and  with  what  a  look  ! — 

"I  wish  to  live,  dear  Monsieur  Martener,  less  for  my  own 
sake  than  for  my  grandmother's,  for  my  poor  Brigaut's,  and 
for  you  all,  who  will  be  sorry  when  I  die.^' 

The  first  time  she  took  a  walk,  in  the  month  of  November, 
under  a  bright  Martinmas  sun,  escorted  by  all  the  family, 
Madame  Auffray  asked  her  if  she  were  tired. 

"Now  that  I  have  nothing  to  bear  but  the  pain  God  sends 
me,  I  can  endure  it.  I  find  strength,  to  bear  suffering  in  the 
joy  of  being  loved." 

This  was  the  only  time  she  ever  alluded,  even  so  remotely, 
to  her  horrible  martyrdom  at  the  Rogrons';  she  never  spoke 
of  them ;  and  as  the  remembrance  could  not  fail  to  be  painful, 
no  one  mentioned  their  name. 

"Dear  Madame  Auffray,"  said  she  one  day  at  noon  on  the 
terrace,  while  gazing  at  the  valley  lighted  up  by  brilliant 
sunshine  and  dressed  in  the  russet  tints  of  autumn,  "my 
dying  days  in  your  house  will  have  brought  me  more  happiness 
than  all  the  three  years  before." 

Madame  Auffray  looked  at  her  sister,  Madame  Martener, 
and  said  to  her  in  a  whisper : 

"How  she  would  have  loved !" 

And,  indeed,  Pierrette's  tone  and  look  gave  her  words  un- 
utterable meaning. 

Monsieur  Martener  kept  up  a  correspondence  with  Doctor 
Bianchon,  and  tried  no  serious  treatment  without  his  appro- 
bation. He  hoped  first  to  restore  the  girl  to  normal  health, 
and  then  to  enable  the  abscess  to  discharge  itself  through  the 


320 


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ear.  The  more  acute  her  pain  was,  the  more  hopeful  he  felt, 
With  regard  to  the  first  point  he  had  some  success,  and  that 
was  a  great  triumph.  For  some  days  Pierrette  recovered 
her  appetite,,  and  could  satisfy  it  with  substantial  food,  for 
which  her  unhealthy  state  had  hitherto  given  her  great  aver- 
sion; her  color  improved,  but  the  pain  in  her  heal  was  terri- 
ble. The  doctor  now  begged  the  great  physician,  his  con- 
sultee,  to  come  to  Provins.  Bianchon  came,  stayed  two  days, 
and  advised  an  operation;  he  threw  himself  into  all  poor 
Martener's  anxiety,  and  went  himself  to  fetch  the  famous 
Desplein.  So  the  operation  was  perforn:ied  by  the  greatest 
surgeon  of  ancient  or  modern  times;  but  this  terrible  augur 
said  to  Martener  as  he  went  away  with  Bianchon,  his  best- 
beloved  pupil: 

"You  can  save  her  only  by  a  miracle.  As  Horace  has  told 
you,  necrosis  has  set  in.  At  that  age  the  bones  are  still 
so  tender." 

The  operation  was  performed  early  in  March  1828.  All 
that  month  Monsieur  Martener,  alarmed  by  the  fearful  tor- 
ments Pierrette  endured,  made  several  journeys  to  Paris;  hi 
consulted  Desplein  and  Bianchon,  to  whom  he  even  suggested 
a  treatment  resembling  that  known  as  lithotrity — the  inser- 
tion of  a  tubular  instrument  into  the  skull,  by  which  a  heroicr 
remedy  might  be  introduced  to  arrest  the  progress  of  decay.. 
The  daring  Desplein  dared  not  attempt  this  surgical  feat; 
which  only  despair  had  suggested  to  Martener. 

When  the  doctor  returned  from  his  last  journey  to  Paris, 
his  friends  thought  him  crestfallen  and  gloomy.  One  fatal 
evening  he  was  com.pelled  to  announce  to  the  Auffray  family, 
to  Madame  Lorrain,  to  the  confessor,  and  to  Brigaut,  who 
were  all  present,  that  science  coald  do  no  more  for  Pierrette, 
that  her  life  was  in  the  hands  of  God  alone.  Her  grand- 
mother took  a  vow  and  begged  the  cure  to  say,  every  morning 
at  daybreak,  before  Pierrette  rose,  a  mass  which  she  and  Bri- 
gaut would  attend. 

The  case  came  up  for  trial.  While  the  Rogrons'  victim 
lay  dying,  Vinet  was  calumniating  her  to  the  Court  The 


PIERRETTE 


321 


Court  ratified  the  decision  of  the  family  council,  and  the 
lawyer  immediately  appealed.  The  newly-appointed  public 
prosecutor  delivered  an  address  which  led  to  an  inquiry. 
Eogron  and  his  sister  were  obliged  to  find  sureties  to  avoid 
being  sent  to  prison.  The  inquiry  necessitated  the  examina- 
tion of  Pierrette  herself.  When  Monsieur  Desfondrilles  went 
to  the  Auffrays'  house,  Pierrette  was  actually  dying ;  the  priest 
was  at  her  bedside,  and  she  was  about  to  take  the  last  sacra- 
ment. At  that  moment  she  was  entreating  all  the  assembled 
family  to  forgive  her  cousins  as  she  herself  forgave  them, 
saying,  with  excellent  good  sense,  that^judgment  in  such  cases 
belonged  to  God  alone. 

"Grandmother,"  said  she,  "leave  all  you  possess  to  Brigaut" 
— Brigaut  melted  into  tears — "and,"  Pierrette  went  on,  "give 
a  thousand  francs  to  good  Adele,  who  used  to  warm  my  bed  on 
the  sly.  If  she  had  stayed  with  my  cousins,  I  should  be 
alive    .  . 

It  was  at  three  o'clock  on  Easter  Tuesday,  on  a  beautiful 
day,  that  this  little  angel  ceased  to  suffer.  Her  heroic  grand- 
mother insisted  on  sitting  by  her  all  night  with  the  priests, 
and  sewing  her  winding-sheet  on  her  with  her  old  hands. 
Towards  evening  Brigaut  left  the  house  and  went  back  to 
Frappier's. 

"I  need  not  ask  you  the  news,  my  poor  boy,"  said  the  car- 
penter. 

"Pere  Frappier — yes ;  it  is  all  over  with  her,  and  not  with 
me  r 

The  apprentice  looked  round  the  workshop  at  all  the  wood 
store  with  gloomy  but  keen  eyes. 

"I  understand,  Brigaut,"  said  the  worthy  Frappier. 
"There — that  is  v/hat  you  want,"  and  he  pointed  to  some 
two-inch  oak  planks. 

"Do  not  help  me.  Monsieur  Frappier,"  said  the  Breton. 
"I  will  do  it  all  myself." 

Brigaut  spent  the  night  in  planing  and  joining  Pierrette's 
coffin,  and  more  than  once  he  ripped  off  with  one  stroke  a 
long  shaving  wet  with  his  tears.   His  friend  Frappier  smoked 


322 


PIERRETTE 


and  watched  him.  He  said  nothing  to  him  but  these  few 
words  when  his  man  put  the  four  sides  together: 

"Make  the  lid  to  slide  in  a  groove,  then  her  poor  friends 
will  not  hear  you  nail  it  down." 

At  daybreak  Brigaut  went  for  lead  to  line  the  coffin.  By 
a  singular  coincidence  the  sheets  of  lead  cost  exactly  the  sum 
he  had  given  to  Pierrette  for  her  journey  from  Nantes  to 
Provins.  The  brave  Breton,  who  had  borne  up  under  the 
dreadful  pain  of  making  a  coffin  for  the  beloved  companion 
of  his  childhood,  overlaying  each  funereal  board  with  all  his 
memories,  could  not  endure  this  coincidence ;  he  turned  faint, 
and  could  not  carry  the  lead-;  the  plumber  accompanied  him, 
and  offered  to  go  with  him  and  solder  down  the  top  sheet  as 
soon  as  the  body  should  be  laid  in  the  coffin. 

The  Breton  burned  his  plane  and  all  the  tools  he  had  used 
for  the  work,  he  wound  up  his  accounts  with  Frappier,  and 
bade  him  good-bye. 

The  heroism  which  enabled  the  poor  fellow,  like  the  grand- 
mother, to  busy  himself  with  doing  the  last  services  to  the 
dead,  led  to  his  intervening  in  the  crowning  scene  which  put 
a  climax  to  the  Eogrons'  tyranny. 

Brigaut  and  the  plumber  arrived  at  Monsieur  Auffray's 
just  in  time  to  decide  by  brute  force  a  horrible  and  shameful 
legal  question.  The  chamber  of  the  dead  was  full  of  people^ 
and  presented  a  strange  scene  to  the  two  workmen.  The 
Eogrons  stood  hideous  by  the  victim's  corpse  to  torture  it 
even  in  death.  The  body  of  the  poor  girl,  sublime  in  its 
beauty,  lay  on  her  grandmother's  camp-bed.  Pierrette's  eyes 
were  closed,  her  hair  smoothly  braided,  her  body  sewn  into 
a  winding-sheet  of  coarse  cotton. 

By  this  bed,  her  hair  in  disorder,  on  her  knees  with  out- 
stretched hands  and  a  flaming  face,  old  Madame  Lorrain  Was 
crying  out: 

"No,  no ;  it  shall  never  be  !" 

At  the  foot  of  the  bed  were  the  guardian  Monsieur  Auffray, 
the  Cure  Monsieur  Peroux,  and  Monsieur  Habert.  Tapers 


PIERRETTE] 


323 


were  still  burning.  Opposite  the  grandmother  stood  the  hos- 
pital surgeon  and  Monsieur  Neraud,  supported  by  the  smooth- 
tongued and  formidable  Vinet.  A  registrar  was  present.  The 
surgeon  had  on  his  dissecting  apron ;  one  of  his  assistants  had 
opened  his  roll  of  instruments  and  was  handing  him  a  scalpel. 

This  scene  was  disturbed  by  the  noise  made  by  the  fall  of 
the  coffin,  which  Brigaut  and  the  plumber  dropped;  and  by 
Brigaut  himself,  who,  entering  first,  was  seized  with  horror  on 
seeing  old  Madame  Lorrain  in  tears. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  asked  Brigaut,  placing  himself  by 
her  side,  and  convulsively  clutching  a  chisel  he  had  brought 
with  him. 

"The  matter!"  said  the  old  woman.  "They  want  to  open 
my  child's  body,  to  split  her  skull — to  rend  her  heart  after  her 
death  as  they  did  in  her  lifetime !" 

"Who  ?"  said  Brigaut,  in  a  voice  to  crack  the  drum  of  the 
lawyer's  ears. 

"The  Eogrons." 

"By  the  God  above  us !  

"One  moment,  Brigaut,"  said  Monsieur  Auffray,  seeing  the 
Breton  brandish  his  chisel. 

"Monsieur  Auffray,"  said  Brigaut,  as  pale  as  the  dead  girl, 
"I  listen  to  you  because  you  are  Monsieur  Auffray.  But  at 
this  moment  I  would  not  listen  to  " 

"Justice  \"  Auffray  put  in. 

"Is  there  such  a  thing  as  J ustice  ?"  cried  Brigaut. 

"That — that  is  J  ustice  !"  he  went  on,  threatening  the  law- 
yer, the  surgeon,  and  the  clerk  with  his  chisel  that  flashed  in 
the  sunlight. 

"My  good  fellow,"  said  the  cure,  "Monsieur  Eogron's  law-^ 
yer  has  appealed  to  Justice.  His  client  lies  under  a  serious 
accusation,  and  it  is  impossible  to  refuse  a  suspected  person 
the  means  of  clearing  himself.  According  to  Monsieur  Ko- 
gron's  advocate,  if  this  poor  child  died  of  the  abscess  on 
the  brain,  her  former  guardian  must  be  regarded  as  guiltless ; 
for  it  is  proved  that  Pierrette  for  a  long  time  concealed  the 
blow  she  had  given  herself  " 

22 


PIERRBTTK 


'That  will  do !"  said  Brigaut. 
"My  client  "  Vinet  began. 

"Your  client/'  cried  the  Breton,  "shall  go  to  hell,  and  1 
to  the  scaffold;  for  if  one  of  you  makes  an  attempt  to  touch 
her  whom  your  client  killed — if  that  sawbones  does  not  put 
bis  knife  away,  I  will  strike  him  dead." 

"This  is  overt  resistance/'  said  Vinet;  "we  shall  lay  it  be- 
fore the  Court." 

The  five  strangers  withdrew. 

"Oh,  my  son !"  said  the  old  woman,  starting  up  and  throw- 
ing her  arms  round  Brigaut's  neck,  "let  us  bury  her  at  once ; 
they  will  come  back." 

"When  once  the  lead  is  soldered,"  said  the  plumber,  "per- 
haps they  will  not  dare." 

Monsieur  Auffray  hurried  off  to  his  brother-in-law.  Mon- 
sieur Lesourd,  to  try  to  get  this  matter  settled.  Vinet  wished 
for  nothing  better.  Pierrette  once  dead,  the  action  as  to  the 
fpardianship,  which  was  not  yet  decided,  must  die  a  natural 
ifleath,  without  any  possibility  of  argument  either  for  or 
Mgainst  the  Rogrons;  the  question  remained  an  open  one. 
J5o  the  shrewd  lawyer  had  perfectly  foreseen  the  effect  his 
demand  would  produce. 

At  noon  Monsieur  Desfondrilles  reported  to  the  Bench  on 
the  inquiry  relating  to  the  Rogrons,  and  the  Court  pro- 
nounced a  verdict  of  no  case,  on  self-evident  grounds. 

Rogron  dared  not  show  his  face  at  Pierrette's  funeral, 
though  all  the  town  was  present.  Vinet  tried  to  drag  him 
there;  but  the  ex-haberdasher  feared  the  excitement  of  uni^ 
versal  reprobation. 

Brigaut,  after  seeing  the  grave  filled  up  in  which  Pierrette 
was  laid,  left  Provins  and  went  on  foot  to  Paris.  He  ad- 
dressed a  petition  to  the  Dauphiness  to  be  allowed,  in  con- 
sideration of  his  father's  name,  to  enlist  in  the  Royal  Guard, 
and  was  soon  afterwards  enrolled.  When  an  expedition  wa3 
fitted  out  for  Algiers,  he  again  wrote  to  the  Dauphiness,  beg- 
ging to  be  ordered  on  active  service.  He  was  then  sergeant ; 
Marshal  Bourmont  made  him  sub-lieutenant  of  the  Line. 
The  Major's  sou  behaved  like  a  man  seeking  death.  But 


PIERttKTTE 


325 


death  has  hitherto  respected  Jacques  Brigaut,  who  has  dis- 
tinguished himself  in  all  the  recent  expeditions  without  being 
once  wounded.  He  is  now  at  the  head  of  a  battalion  in  the 
Line.  There  is  not  a  more  taciturn  or  a  better  officer.  Off 
duty  he  is  speechless,  walks  alone,  and  lives  like  a  machine. 
Every  one  understands  and  respects  some  secret  sorrow.  He 
has  forty-six  thousand  francs,  left  him  by  old  Madame  Lor- 
rain,  who  died  in  Paris  in  1829. 

Vinet  was  elected  depute  in  1830,  and  the  services  he  has 
done  to  the  new  Government  have  earned  him  the  place  of 
Prosecutor-General.  His  influence  is  now  so  great  that  he 
will  always  be  returned  as  depute.  Kogron  is  Receiver- 
General  in  the  town  where  Vinet  exercises  his  high  functions, 
and  by  a  singular  coincidence  Monsieur  Tiphaine  is  the  chief 
President  of  the  Supreme  Court  there;  for  the  Judge  un- 
hesitatingly attached  himself  to  the  new  dynasty  of  July. 
The  ex-beautiful  Madame  Tiphaine  lives  on  very  good  terms 
with  the  beautiful  Madame  Kogron.  Vinet  and  President; 
Tiphaine  agree  perfectly. 

As  to  Rogron,  utterly  stupid,  he  says  such  things  as  this : 

"Louis  Philippe  will  never  be  really  King  until  he  can 
create  r.obles." 

This  speech  is  obviously  not  his  own. 

His  failing  health  allows  Madame  Rogron  to  hope  that  ere 
long  she  may  be  free  to  marry  General  the  Marquis  de 
Montriveau,  a  peer  of  France,  who  is  Governor  of  the  depart- 
ment, and  attentive  to  her.  Vinet  is  always  in  a  hurry  to  con- 
demn a  man  to  death;  he  never  believes  In  the  innocence  of 
the  accused.  This  man,  born  to  be  a  public  prosecutor,  is 
considered  one  of  the  most  amiable  men  of  his  district,  and 
is  not  less  successful  in  Paris  and  in  the  Chamber;  at  Coavi 
he  is  the  exquisite  courtier. 

General  Baron  Gouraud,  that  noble  relic  of  our  glorious 
armies,  has  married — as  Vinet  promised  that  he  should — a 
Demoiselle  Matifat,  five-and-twenty  years  of  age,  the  daughter 
of  a  druggist  in  the  Rue  des  Lombards,  who  had  a  fortune  of 
fifty  thousand  crowns.   He  is  Governor — as  Vinet  prophesied 


326 


— of  a  department  close  to  Paris.   He  was  made  a  peer  of 

France  as  the  reward  of  his  conduct  in  the  riots  under 
Casimir  Perier's  Ministry.  Baron  Gouraud  was  one  of  the 
generals  who  took  the  Church  of  Saint-Merry,  delighted  to 
*^rap  the  knuckles"  of  the  civilians  who  had  bullied  them  for 
fifteen  years;  and  his  zeal  won  him  the  Grand  Cordon  of'; 
the  Legion  of  Honor. 

None  of  those  who  were  implicated  in  Pierrette's  death 
have  any  remorse.  Monsieur  Desfondrilles  is  still  an  arch- 
aeologist; but,  to  promote  his  own  election,  Attorney-General 
Vinet  took  care  to  have  him  appointed  President  of  the 
Court.  Sylvie  holds  a  little  court,  and  m.anages  her  brother's 
affairs;  she  lends  at  high  interest,  and  does  not  spend  more 
than  twelve  hundred  francs  a  year. 

From  time  to  time,  in  the  little  Square,  when  some  son 
of  Provins  comes  home  from  Paris  to  settle  there,  and  is 
seen  coming  out  of  Mademoiselle  Rogron's  house,  some 
former  partisan  of  the  Tiphaines  will  say,  "The  Rogrons  had 
a  very  sad  affair  once  about  a  ward    .  . 

"A  mere  party  question,"  President  Desfondrilles  replies. 
"Monstrous  tales  were  given  out.  Out  of  kindness  of  heart 
they  took  this  little  Pierrette  to  live  with  them,  a  nice  child 
enough,  without  a  penny;  Just  as  she  was  growing  up  she 
had  some  intrigue  with  a  joiner's  apprentice,  and  would  come 
to  her  window  barefoot  to  talk  to  the  lad,  who  used  to  stand 
just  there,  do  you  see  ?  The  lovers  sent  each  other  notes  by 
means  of  a  string.  As  you  may  suppose,  in  her  state,  and  in 
the  months  of  October  and  November,  that  was  quite  enough 
to  upset  a  little  pale-faced  girl.  The  Rogrons  behaved  ad- 
mirably; they  never  claimed  their  share  of  the  child's  in- 
heritance; they  gave  everything  to  the  grandmother.  The 
moral  of  it  all,  my  friends,  is  that  the  devil  always  punishes 
us  for  a  good  action." 

"Oh!  this  is  quite  another  story;  old  Frappier  told  it  in  a 
very  different  way!" 

"Old  Frappier  consults  his  cellar  more  than  his  memory,'' 
remarked  a  frequenter  of  Mademoiselle  Rogi'on's  drawing- 
room. 


PIERRPJTTE 


327 


*^ut  then  old  Monsieur  ITabert  

"Oh!  you  know  about  his  share  in  the  matter?'* 
"No/' 

''Why,  he  wanted  to  get  his  sister  married  to  Monsieur 
Rogron,  the  Eeceiver-General.'^ 

Two  men  daily  think  of  Pierrette — Doctor  Martener  and 
Major  Brigaut,  who  alone  know  the  terrible  truth. 

To  give  that  truth  immense  proportions,  it  is  enough  to 
recall  the  fact  that  if  we  change  the  scene  to  the  Middle  Ages, 
and  to  the  vast  theatre  of  Eome,  a  sublime  girl,  Beatrice 
Cenci,  was  dragged  to  the  scaffold  for  reasons  and  by  intrigues 
almost  the  same  as  those  which  brought  Pierrette  to  the 
tomb.  Beatrice  Cenci  found  none  to  defend  her  but  an  artist 
— a  painter.  And  to-day  history  and  living  people,  on  the  evi- 
dence of  Guide  Eeni^s  portrait,  condemn  the  Pope,  and  regard 
Beatrice  as  one  of  the  most  pathetic  victims  of  infamous 
passions  and  factions. 

And  we  may  agree  that  the  law  would  be  a  fine  thing  for 
social  roguery,  if  there  were  no  God. 

November  1830. 


THE  VICAR  OF  TOURS 


To  DAVID,  Sculptor, 

The  duration  of  the  work  on  which  I  write  your  name— doubly 
illustrious  in  our  age— is  most  uncertain,  while  you  inscribe  mine 
on  bronze,  which  outlives  nations  even  when  stamped  only  by 
the  vulgar  die  of  the  coiner.  Will  not  numismatists  be  puzzled 
by  the  many  crowned  heads  in  your  studio,  when  they  find  among 
the  ashes  of  Paris  these  lives,  prolonged  by  you  beyond  tlie  life 
of  nations,  in  which  they  will  fancy  they  discover  dynasties? 
Yours  is  this  divine  prerogative— mine  be  the  gratitude. 

De  Balzac. 

In"  the  early  autumn  of  1826  the  Abbe  Birotteau,  the  prin- 
cipal personage  of  this  story,  was  caught  in  a  shower  on  his 
way  home  from  the  house  where  he  had  spent  the  evening. 
He  was  just  crossing,  as  fast  as  his  burly  weight  permitted, 
a  little  deserted  square  known  as  the  Close,  lying  behind  the 
apse  of  Saint-Gatien  at  Tours. 

The  Abbe  Birotteau,  a  short  man  of  apoplectic  build,  and 
now  sixty  years  of  age,  had  already  had  several  attacks  of 
gout.  Hence,  of  all  the  minor  miseries  of  human  life,  that 
which  the  worthy  man  held  in  most  horror  was  the  sudden 
wetting  of  his  shoes  with  their  large  silver  buckles,  and  the 
immersion  of  their  soles.  In  fact,  notwithstanding  the  flan- 
nel lining  in  which  he  packed  his  feet  in  all  weathers,  with 
the  care  a  priest  always  takes  of  himself,  they  often  got  a 
little  damp;  then,  next  day,  the  gout  unfailingly  gave  him 
proof  of  its  constancy. 

However,  as  the  cobbles  in  the  Close  are  always  dry,  and 
as  the  Abbe  had  won  three  francs  and  ten  sous  at  whist  from 

v329) 


THJJ  VICAR  OP  TOURS 


Madame  de  Listomere,  he  submitted  to  th^^  rain  with  resigna- 
tion from  the  middle  of  the  Place  de  rArcheveche,  where  it 
had  begun  to  fall  heavily.  Moreover,  at  this  moment  he  was 
brooding  over  his  chimera,  a  longing  already  twelve  years  old, 
a  priest's  day-dream !  A  dream  which,  recurring  every  even- 
ing, now  seemed  likely  to  find  fulfilment;  in  short,  he  was 
too  well  wrapped  in  the  fur  sleeves  of  a  canon's  robes  to  be 
sensitive  to  the  severities  of  the  weather.  In  the  course  of 
this  evening  the  accustomed  guests  who  met  at  Madame  de 
Listomere's  had  as  good  as  promised  him  a  nomination  to 
the  canon's  stall  at  present  vacant  in  the  Metropolitan  Chap- 
ter of  Saint-Gatien,  by  proving  to  him  that  no  one  better 
deserved  it  than  he,  whose  claims  were  indisputable,  though 
so  long  ignored.  If  he  had  lost  at  cards,  if  he  had  heard  that 
the  canonry  was  given  to  the  Abbe  Poirel,  his  rival,  the  good 
man  would  have  found  the  rain  very  cold;  he  might  have 
abused  life.  But  he  was  in  one  of  those  rare  moments  when 
delightful  sensations  make  us  forget  everything.  Though  he 
hastened  his  pace,  it  was  in  obedience  to  a  mechanical  im- 
pulse, and  truth — so  indispensable  in  a  tale  of  domestic  life — 
requires  us  to  say  that  he  was  thinking  neither  of  the  shower 
nor  of  the  gout. 

There  were  formerly  round  this  Close,  on  the  side  by  the 
Grand'  Eue,  a  number  of  houses  standing  within  a  wall,  and 
belonging  to  the  Cathedral,  inhabited  by  certain  dignitaries 
of  the  Chapter.  Since  the  sequestration  of  ecclesiastical 
property,  the  town  has  taken  the  alley  dividing  these  houses 
as  a  public  way,  by  the  name  of  Eue  de  la  Psalette,  leading 
from  the  Close  to  the  High  Street.  The  name  itself  shows 
that  here  formerly  dwelt  the  precentor  with  his  schools  and 
those  who  were  within  his  jurisdiction.  The  left  side  of  the 
street  is  formed  of  one  large  house,  its  garden  walls  being 
bridged  by  the  flying  buttresses  of  Saint-Gatien,  which  spring 
from  the  ground  of  its  strip  of  garden,  making  it  doubtful 
whether  the  Cathedral  were  built  before  or  after  that  ancient 
dwelling.    But,  by  examining  the  mouldings  and  the  shape 


THE  VICAR  OF  TOURS 


381 


of  the  windows,  the  arch  of  the  doorway,  and  the  external 
architecture  of  the  house,  darkened  by  time,  an  archaeologist 
detects  that  it  had  aivvays  been  part  and  parcel  of  the  mag- 
nificent church  to  which  it  is  wedded.  An  antiquarian — if 
there  were  one  at  Tours,  one  of  the  least  literary  towns  of 
France — might  even  discern  at  the  entrance  to  the  passage 
from  the  Close  some  traces  of  the  covered  archway  which  of 
old  served  as  an  entry  to  these  priestly  dwellings,  and  which 
.must  have  harmonized  in  character  with  the  main  edifice. 

This  house,,  being  to  the  north  of  Saint-Gatien,  lies  always 
in  the  shadow  of  this  vast  Cathedral,  on  which  time  has  cast 
its  gloomy  mantle,  stamped  wrinkles,  and  set  its  damp  chill, 
its  mosses,  and  straggling  weeds.  And  it  is  perennially 
wrapped  in  the  deepest  silence,  broken  only  by  the  tolling  of 
the  bells,  the  chanted  service  heard  through  the  Cathedral 
walls,  or  the  cawing  of  jackdaws  nesting  at  the  top  of  the 
belfries.  The  spot  is  a  desert  of  masonry,  a  solitude  full  of 
individuality,  in  which  none  could  dwell  but  beings  absolutely 
mindless,  or  gifted  with  immense  strength  of  soul. 

The  house  in  question  had  always  been  the  home  of  Abbes, 
and  belonged  to  an  old  maid  named  Mademoiselle  Gamard. 
Although  during  the  Terror  the  property  had  been  bought 
from  the  nation  by  Mademoiselle  Gamard's  father,  as  the 
worthy  maiden  had  for  twenty  years  past  let  the  rooms  to 
priests,  no  one,  at  the  Eestoration,  could  take  it  ill  that  a 
bigot  should  not  surrender  a  piece  of  national  property;  re- 
ligious persons  may  have  supposed  that  she  meant  to  bequeath 
it  to  the  Chapter,  and  the  worldly  saw  no  change  in  its  uses. 

It  was  to  this  house,  then,  that  the  Abbe  Birotteau  was 
making  his  way ;  he  had  lived  in  it  for  two  years.  His  rooms 
there  had  been  till  then,  as  the  canonry  was  now,  the  object 
of  his  desires,  and  his  hoc  erat  in  votis  for  a  dozen  years 
before.  To  board  with  Mademoiselle  Gamard  and  to  be  made 
a  canon  were  the  two  great  aims  of  his  life ;  and  perhaps  they 
completely  sum  up  the  ambitions  of  a  priest  who,  regarding 
himself  as  a  pilgrim  to  eternity,  can  in  this  world  wish  for 
no  more  than  a  good  room,  a  good  table,  clean  clothes,  shoes 


832 


THE  VICAR  OF  TOURS 


with  silver  buckles — all-sufficient  for  his  animal  needs — and 
a  canoniy  to  satisfy  his  pride,  the  indefinable  feeling  which 
will  accompany  us,  no  doubt,  into  the  presence  of  God,  since 
there  are  grades  of  rank  among  the  saints. 

But  the  Abbe  Birotteau's  desire  for  the  rooms  he  now  oc- 
cupied, so  trivial  a  feeling  in  the  eyes  of  the  worldly  wise, 
had  been  to  him  a  perfect  passion,  a  passion  full  of  obstacles, 
and,  like  the  most  criminal  passions,  full  of  hopes,  joys,  and 
remorse.  ^ 

The  arrangements  and  space  in  her  house  did  not  allow 
Mademoiselle  Gamard  to  take  more  than  two  resident  board- 
ers. Now,  about  twelve  years  before  the  day  when  Birotteau 
went  to  lodge  with  this  maiden  lady,  she  had  undertaken  to 
preserve  in  health  and  contentment  Monsieur  I'Abbe  Trou- 
bert  and  Monsieur  I'Abbe  Chapeloud.  The  Abbe  Troubert 
still  lived,  the  Abbe  Chapeloud  was  dead,  and  Birotteau  had 
been  his  immediate  successor. 

The  late  Abbe  Chapeloud,  in  his  lifetime  Canon  of  Saint- 
Gatien,  had  been  the  Abbe  Birotteau's  intimate  friend. 
Every  time  the  priest  had  gone  into  the  canon's  rooms  he 
had  unfailingly  admired  them,  the  furniture,  and  the  books. 
This  admiration  one  day  gave  birth  to  a  desire  to  possess 
these  fine  things.  The  Abbe  Birotteau  had  found  it  impossible 
to  smother  this  desire,  which  often  made  him  dreadfully  un- 
happy when  he  reflected  that  only  the  death  of  his  best  friend 
could  satisfy  this  hidden  covetousness,  which  nevertheless 
constantly  increased. 

The  Abbe  Chapeloud  and  his  friend  Birotteau  were  not  rich. 
Both  sons  of  peasants,  they  had  nothing  but  the  poor  emolu- 
ment doled  out  to  priests,  and  their  small  savings  had  been 
spent  in  tiding  over  the  evil  days  of  the  Revolution.  When 
Napoleon  re-established  Catholic  worship,  the  Abbe  Chape- 
loud was  made  Canon  of  Saint-Gatien,  and  the  Abbe  Birotteau 
became  vicaire,  or  mass-priest,  of  the  Cathedral.  It  was  then 
that  Chapeloud  went  to  board  with  Mademoiselle  Gamard. 
When  Birotteau  first  called  on  the  Canon  in  his  new  residence, 
he  thought  the  rooms  delightfully  arranged,  but  that  was 


THE  VI6AU  OF  'I  OURg 


all.  The  beginnings  of  this  concupiscence  for  furniture 
were  like  those  of  a  real  passion  in  a  young  man,  which  often 
fit  first  is  no  more  than  cold  admiration  of  the  woman  he 
subsequently  loves  for  ever. 

These  rooms,  reached  by  a  stone  staircase,  were  on  the  side 
of  the  house  looking  south.  The  Abbe  Troubert  inhabited 
the  ground  floor,  and  Mademoiselle  Gamard  the  first  floor  of 
the  main  front  to  the  street.  When  Chapeloud  went  in,  the 
rooms  were  bare  and  the  ceilings  blackened  by  smoke.  The, 
chimney  fronts,  clumsily  carved  in  stone,  had  never  been 
painted.  All  the  furniture  the  poor  canon  could  at  first  put 
in  consisted  of  a  bed,  a  table,  some  chairs,  and  his  few  books. 
The  apartment  was  like  a  fine  woman  in  rags. 

But  two  or  three  years  later,  an  old  lady  having  left  the 
Abbe  Chapeloud  two  thousand  francs,  he  laid  out  the  money 
in  the  purchase  of  an  oak  bookcase,  saved  from  the  destructioii 
of  an  old  chateau  pulled  down  by  the  Bande  noire  (a  com^ 
pany  vvho  bought  old  buildings  to  demolish),  and  remarkable 
for  carvings  worthy  of  the  admiration  of  artists.  The  Abbe 
made  the  purchase,  fascinated  less  by  its  cheapness  than  bj; 
its  exact  correspondence  in  size  with  the  dimensions  of  his 
corridor.  His  savings  then  allowed  him  completely  to  restore 
this  corridor,  until  now  abandoned  to  neglect.  The  floor  was 
carefully  waxed,  the  ceiling  whitewashed,  the  wood-work 
painted  and  grained  to  imitate  the  tone  and  knots  of  oak. 
A  marble  chimney-shelf  replaced  the  old  one.  The  Canon 
had  taste  enough  to  hunt  up  and  find  some  old  armchairs 
of  carved  walnut  wood.  Then  a  long  ebony  table  and  two 
little  Boulle  cabinets  gave  this  library  a  finish  full  of  char- 
acter. 

Within  two  3^ears,  the  liberality  of  various  devout  persons, 
and  the  bequests  of  pious  penitents,  though  small,  had  filled 
the  shelves  of  the  bookcase  hitherto  vacant.  Finally,  an 
uncle  of  Chapeloud's,  an  old  Oratorian,  left  him  his  collection 
in  folio  of  the  Fathers  of  the  Church,  and  several  other  large 
works  of  value  to  an  ecclesiastic. 

Birotteau,  more  and  more  surprised  by  the  successive 


834 


THE  VICAR  OP  TOURS 


transformations  in  this  formerly  bare  corridor,  by  degree-^ 
became  involuntarily  covetous.  He  longed  to  possess  this 
study,  so  perfectly  adapted  to  the  gravity  of  priestly  habits. 
This  passion  grew  day  by  day.  Spending  whole  days,  as  he 
often  did,  in  working  in  this  snuggery,  he  could  appreciate 
the  silence  and  peace  of  it,  after  having  at  first  admired  its 
comfortable  arrangement.  For  the  next  few  years  the  Abbe 
Chapeloud  used  this  retreat  as  an  oratory  which  his  lady 
friends  delighted  to  embellish.  Later,  again,  a  lady  presented 
to  the  Canon  a  piece  of  furniture  in  worsted  work  for  his 
bedroom,  at  which  she  had  long  been  stitching  under  the 
amiable  priest's  eyes  without  his  suspecting  its  purpose. 
Then  Birotteau  was  as  much  dazzled  by  the  bedroom  as  by 
the  library. 

Finally,  three  years  before  his  death,  the  Abbe  Chapeloud 
bad  completed  the  comfort  of  his  rooms  by  decorating  the 
drawing-room.  Though  simply  furnished  with  red  Utrecht 
velvet,  this  had  been  too  much  for  Birotteau.  From  the 
day  when  the  Canon's  friend  first  saw  the  red  silk  cur- 
tains, the  mahogany  furniture,  the  Aubusson  carpet  that 
graced  this  large  room,  freshly  painted,  Chapeloud's  apart- 
ment became  to  him  the  object  of  a  secret  monomania.  To 
live  there,  to  sleep  in  the  great  bed  with  silk  curtains  in 
which  the  Canon  slept,  and  have  all  his  comforts  about 
him  as  Chapeloud  had,  seemed  to  Birotteau  perfect  happi- 
ness; he  looked  for  nothing  beyond.  Every  feeling  which 
envy  and  ambition  arouse  in  the  souls  of  other  men,  was,  in 
that  of  the  Abbe  Birotteau,  centered  in  the  deep  and  secret 
longing  with  which  he  wished  for  a  home  like  that  created  for 
himself  by  the  Abbe  Chapeloud.  When  his  friend  fell  ill^ 
it  was  no  doubt  sincere  affection  that  brought  Birotteau  to 
see  him;  but  on  first  hearing  of  the  Canon's  sickness,  and 
while  sitting  with  him,  there  rose  from  the  depths  of  his 
soul  a  thousand  thoughts,  of  which  the  simplest  formula 
was  always  this,  "If  Chapeloud  dies,  I  can  have  his  rooms." 
Still,  as  Birotteau  had  a  good  heart,  strict  principles,  and  a 
narrow  intellect,  he  never  went  so  far  as  to  conceive  nf 


THE  VICAR  OF  TOURS 


335 


means  for  getting  his  friend  to  leave  him  his  library  and 
furniture. 

The  Abbe  Chapeloud,  an  amiable  and  indulgent  egoist, 
guessed  his  friend's  mania — which  it  was  not  difficult  to 
do,  and  forgave  it — which  for  a  priest  would  seem  less  easy. 
Still,  Birotteau,  whoso  friendship  remained  unaltered,  never 
ceased  to  walk  day  after  day  with  the  Cauon  up  and  down 
the  same  path  in  the  Mall  at  Tours  without  curtailing  by  a 
single  minute  the  time  devoted  to  this  exercise  for  the  last 
twenty  years.  Birotteau  thought  of  his  involuntary  wishes 
as  sins,  and  would  have  been  capable,  in  sheer  contrition,  of 
the  utmost  devotion  for  Chapeloud's  sake. 

The  Canon  paid  his  debt  to  this  sincere  and  artless 
brotherliness  by  saying,  a  few  days  before  his  death,  to  the 
priest,  who  was  reading  to  him  from  the  Quotidienne,  "You 
will  get  the  rooms  this  time.  I  feel  that  it  is  all  over  with 
me." 

In  fact,  by  his  will,  the  Abbe  Chapeloud  left  his  library 
and  furniture  to  Birotteau.  The  possession  of  these  much- 
longed-for  things,  and  the  prospect  of  being  taken  as  a 
boarder  by  Mademoiselle  Gamard,  greatly  softened  Birot- 
teau's  grief  at  the  loss  of  his  friend  the  Canon.  He  would 
not  perhaps  have  called  him  to  life  again,  but  he  wept  for 
him.  For  several  days  he  was  like  Gargantua,  whose  wife 
died  in  giving  birth  to  Pantagruel,  and  who  knew  not 
whether  to  rejoice  over  his  son's  birth  or  to  lament  at  hav- 
ing buried  his  good  Badebec,  and  made  the  mistake  of  re- 
joicing at  his  wife's  death  and  deploring  the  birth  of  Panta- 
gruel. 

The  Abbe  Birotteau  spent  the  first  days  of  his  grief  in. 
verifying  the  volumes  of  his  library,  and  enjoying  the  use 
of  his  furniture,  examining  them,  and  saying  in  a  tone,  which, 
unfortunately,  could  not  be  recorded,  "Poor  Chapeloud!" 
In  short,  his  joy  and  his  grief  were  so  absorbing  that  he 
felt  no  distress  at  seeing  the  canonry  bestowed  on  another, 
though  the  lamented  Chapeloud  had  always  hoped  that 
Birotteau  might  be  his  successor.   Mademoiselle  Gamard  re- 


336 


THE  VICAR  OF  TOURS 


ceived  the  Abbe  with  pleasure  as  a  boarder,  and  he  thns  en- 
joyed thenceforth  all  the  delights  of  material  existence  that 
the  deceased  Canon  had  so  highly  praised. 

Incalculable  advantages !  For,  to  hear  the  late  departed 
Canon  Chapeloud,  not  one  of  the  priests  who  dwelt  in  the 
town  of  Tours,  not  even  the  Archbishop  himself,  could  be 
the  object  of  care  so  delicate  or  so  precise  as  that  lavished 
by  Mademoiselle  Gamard  on  her  two  boarders.  The  first 
words  spoken  by  the  Canon  to  his  friend  as  they  walked  in 
the  Mall  had  almost  always  referred  to  the  excellent  dinner 
he  had  just  eaten;  and  it  was  a  rare  thing  if,  in  the  course 
of  the  seven  walks  they  took  in  the  v/eek,  he  did  not  happen 
to  say  at  least  fourteen  times,  ^^That  good  woman  has  cer- 
tainly a  vocation  for  taking  charge  of  the  priesthood/' 

"Only  think,"  said  the  Canon  to  Birotteau,  "for  twelve 
successive  years  clean  linen,  albs,  surplices,  bands — nothing 
has  ever  been  missing.  I  always  find  everything  in  its 
place  and  in  sufficient  numbers,  all  smelling  of  orris-root. 
My  furniture  is  constantly  polished,  and  so  well  wiped 
that  for  a  long  time  past  I  have  not  known  what  dust 
means.  Did  you  ever  see  a  speck  in  my  rooms?  Then 
the  fire-logs  are  well  chosen,  the  smallest  things  are  all 
good;  in  short,  it  is  as  if  Mademoiselle  Gamard  always  had 
an  eye  on  my  room.  I  cannot  recollect  in  ten  years  ever 
having  had  to  ring  twice  for  anything  whatever.  That  I 
call  living!  never  to  have  to  look  for  a  thing,  not  even 
for  one's  slippers ;  always  to  find  a  good  fire  and  a  good  table. 
Once  my  bellows  put  me  out,  the  nozzle  had  got  burned; 
I  had  not  to  complain  twice.  The  very  next  day  Mademoiselle 
had  bought  me  a  nice  pair  of  bellows  and  the  pair  of  tongs 
you  see  me  use  to  put  the  fire  together." 

Birotteau's  only  reply  was,  "Smelling  of  orris-root !"  That 
smelling  of  orris-root  always  struck  him.  The  Canon's 
words  painted  a  really  ideal  state  of  happiness  to  the  poor 
priest  whose  bands  and  albs  nearly  turned  his  brain;  for 
he  had  no  sense  of  order,  and  not  unfrequently  forgot  to  be- 
speak his  dinner.    And  so,  whenever  he  caught  sight  of 


THE  VICAll  OF  TOUitS 


Mademoiselle  Gamard  at  Saint-Gatien,  either  while  going 
round  for  the  offertory  or  while  reading  mass,  he  never  failed 
to  give  her  a  gentle  and  kindly  glance  such  as  Saint  Theresa 
may  have  raised  to  heaven. 

Though  the  comfort  which  every  creature  desires,  and 
of  which  he  had  so  often  dreamed,  had  now  fallen  to  his 
lot,  as  it  is  difficult  for  any  man,  even  for  a  priest,  to  live 
without  a  hobby,  for  the  last  eighteen  months  the  Abbe 
Birotteau  had  substituted  for  his  two  gratified  passions  a 
craving  for  a  canonry.  The  title  of  canon  had  become  to 
him  what  that  of  a  peer  must  be  to  a  plebeian  minister.  And 
the  probability  of  a  nomination,  the  hopes  he  had  just  been 
encouraged  in  at  Madame  de  Listomere's,  had  so  effectually 
turned  his  brain  that  it  was  only  on  reaching  home  that 
he  discovered  that  he  had  left  his  umbrella  at  her  house. 
Perhaps,  indeed,  but  for  the  rain  that  fell  in  torrents,  he 
would  not  have  remembered  it  then,  so  completely  was  he 
absorbed  in  repeating  to  himself  all  that  had  been  said  on 
the  subject  of  his  preferment  by  the  members  of  the  party 
at  Madame  de  Listomere's — an  old  lady  with  whom  he  spent 
every  .Wednesday  evening. 

The  Abbe  rang  sharply  as  a  hint  to  the  maid  not  to  keep 
him  waiting.  Then  he  shrank  into  the  corner  by  the  door 
so  as  to  be  splashed  as  little  as  possible;  but  the  water 
from  the  roof  ran  off  precisely  on  the  toes  of  his  shoes,  and 
the  gusts  of  wind  blew  on  to  liim  squalls  of  rain  not  unlike 
a  repeated  shower  bath.  After  calculating  the  time  neces- 
sary^ for  coming  from  the  kitchen  to  pull  the  latch-string 
under  the  door,  he  rang  again,  a  very  significant  peal.  "They 
cannot  have  gone  out,"  thought  he,  hearing  not  a  sound 
within.  And  for  the  third  time  he  rang,  again  and  again, 
a  peal  that  sounded  so  sharply  through  the  house,  and  was 
so  loudly  repeated  by  every  echo  in  the  Cathedral,  that  it 
was  impossible  not  to  be  roused  by  this  assertive  jangle. 
And  a  few  moments  after  it  was  not  without  satisfaction, 
mingled  with  annoyance,  that  he  heard  the  maid's  wooden 


THE  VICAU  OF  TOtTRS 


shoes  clattering  over  the  pebbly  stone  floor.  Still;,  the  gouty 
priest^s  troubles  were  not  over  so  soon  as  he  thought.  In- 
stead of  pulling  the  latch,  Marianne  was  obliged  to  unlock 
the  door  with  the  huge  ke}^,  and  draw  back  the  bolts. 

"How  can  you  leave  me  to  ring  three  times  in  such 
weather?'^  said  he  to  Marianne. 

"Why,  sir,  as  you  see,  the  house  was  locked  up.  Every- 
body has  been  in  bed  a  long  time ;  it  has  struck  a  quarter  to 
ten.  Mademoiselle  must  have  thought  you  had  not  gone 
out." 

"But  you  yourself  saw  me  go  out.  Besides,  Mademoiselle 
knows  very  well  that  I  go  to  Madame  de  Listomere's  every 
Wednesday." 

"Well,  sir,  I  only  did  as  Mademoiselle  told  me,"  replied 
Marianne,  locking  the  door  again. 

These  words  were  a  blow  to  the  Abbe,  which  he  felt  all  the 
more  keenly  for  the  intense  bliss  of  his  day-dream.  He 
said  nothing,  but  followed  Marianne  to  the  kitchen,  to  fetch 
his  bedroom  candle,  which  he  supposed  would  have  been 
brought  down  there.  But  instead  of  going  to  the  kitchen, 
Marianne  lighted  the  Abbe  up  to  his  rooms,  where  he  found 
the  candlestick  on  a  table  outside  the  door  of  the  red  draw- 
ing-room, in  a  sort  of  ante-room,  formed  of  the  stair  land- 
ing, which  the  Canon  had  shut  in  for  the  purpose  by  a  large 
glass  partition.  Dumb  with  surprise,  he  hurried  into  his 
bedroom,  found  no  fire  on  the  hearth,  and  called  Marianne, 
who  had  not  yet  had  time  to  go  downstairs. 

"You  have  not  lighted  my  fire  ?"  said  he. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir ;  it  must  have  gone  out  again." 

Birotteau  looked  again  at  the  hearth,  and  saw  plainly  that 
the  ashes  had  been  piled  there  since  the  morning. 

"I  want  to  dry  my  feet,"  he  went  on ;  "make  up  the  fire." 

Marianne  obeyed  with  the  haste  of  a  woman  who  wants  to 
go  to  sleep.  While  the  Abbe  himself  hunted  for  his  slippers, 
failing  to  see  them  in  the  middle  of  his  bed-rug,  as  usual, 
he  made  certain  observations  as  to  the  way  Marianne  was 
dressed,  which  proved  to  a  demonstration  that  she  had  not 


THE  VICAH  OF  TOURS 


just  got  out  of  bed,  as  she  had  asserted.  And  he  then  re- 
membered that  for  about  a  fortnight  past  he  had  been 
weaned  from  all  the  little  attentions  that  had  made  life  so 
endurable  for  the  last  eighteen  months.  Now,  as  it  is  in  the 
nature  of  narrow  minds  to  argue  from  minute  things,  he  at 
once  gave  himself  up  to  deep  reflections  on  these  four  inci- 
dents, imperceptible  to  anybody  else,  but  to  him  nothing  less 
than  four  catastrophes.  The  oversight  as  to  his  slippers, 
Marianne^s  falsehood  with  regard  to  the  fire,  the  unaccus- 
tomed removal  of  his  candlestick  to  the  table  in  the  ante- 
room, and  the  long  waiting  so  ingeniously  inflicted  on  him 
on  the  threshold  in  the  rain,  were  ominous  of  a  complete 
wreck  of  his  happiness. 

When  the  fire  was  blazing  on  the  dogs,  when  his  night- 
lamp  was  lighted,  and  Marianne  had  left  him  without  in- 
quiring as  usual,  "Does  Monsieur  need  anything  further?" 
the  Abbe  sank  gently  into  his  departed  friend's  roomy  and 
handsome  easy-chair;  still,  his  action  as  he  dropped  into 
it  was  somewhat  melancholy.  The  worthy  man  was  op- 
pressed by  the  presentiment  of  terrible  disaster.  His  eyes 
fell  in  succession  on  the  handsome  timepiece,  the  chest  of 
drawers,  the  chairs,  curtains,  and  rugs,  the  four-post  bed, 
the  holy-water  shell  and  the  crucifix,  on  a  Virgin  by  le  Valen- 
tin, on  a  Christ  by  Lebrun — in  short,  on  all  the  details  of 
the  room;  the  expression  of  his  face  betrayed  the  pangs  of 
the  tenderest  farewell  that  a  lover  ever  looked  at  his  first 
mistress,  or  an  old  man  at  his  latest  plantation.  The  Abbe 
had  just  detected — a  little  late,  it  is  true — the  symptoms  of 
a  covert  persecution  to  which  he  had  for  about  three  months 
been  subjected  by  Mademoiselle  Gamard,  whose  ill-will  would 
r.o  doubt  have  been  suspected  sooner  by  a  man  of  keener  in- 
telligence. 

Have  not  all  old  maids  a  certain  talent  for  emphasizing 
the  acts  and  words  suggested  to  them  by  hatred?  They 
scratch  as  cats  do.  And  not  only  do  they  hurt,  but  they 
take  pleasure  in  hurting,  and  in  making  their  victim  see 
that  they  can  hurt.    While  a  man  of  the  world  would  not 


840 


TiiE  vicau  of  Touits 


have  allowed  himself  to  be  clawed  a  second  time,  the  worthy 
Birotteau  had  taken  several  scratches  in  the  face  before  he 
had  conceived  of  malignant  purpose. 

Imn^diately,  with  the  inquisitorial  shrewdness  acquired 
by  priests,  accustomed  as  they  are  to  direct  consciences  and 
to  investigate  trifles  from  the  shades  of  the  confessional,  the 
•  Abbe  Birotteau  set  to  work  to  formulate  the  following 
proposition — as  though  it  were  the  basis  of  a  religious  con- 
troversy.— Granting  that  Mademoiselle  Gamard  may  have 
forgotten  Madame  de  Listomere's  evening — that  Marianne 
had  neglected  to  light  my  fire — that  they  thought  I  was  at 
home;  as  it  is  certain  that  I,  myself,  must  have  taken  my 
candlestick  downstairs  this  morning ! ! ! — it  is  impossible  that 
Mademoiselle  Gamard,  seeing  it  in  her  sitting-room,  could 
have  supposed  I  had  gone  to  bed.  Ergo,  Mademoiselle 
Gamard  left  me  at  the  door  in  the  rain  on  purpose;  and  by 
having  the  candlestick  carried  up  to  my  rooms  she  meant  me 
to  know  it. — "What  does  it  mean?"  he  said  aloud,  carried 
away  by  the  gravity  of  the  case,  as  he  rose  to  take  off  his  wet 
clothes,  and  put  on  his  dressing-gown  and  his  nightcap. 
Then  he  went  from  the  bed  to  the  fire  gesticulating  and  jerk- 
ing out  such  comments  as  these,  in  various  tones  of  voice, 
all  ended  in  a  falsetto  pitch  as  though  to  represent  points  of 
interrogation. 

"What  the  deuce  have  I  done?  Why  does  she  owe  me  a 
grudge? — Marianne  cannot  have  forgotten  my  fire;  Made- 
moiselle must  have  told  her  not  to  light  it !  I  should  be  child- 
ish not  to  see  from  the  tone  and  manner  she  assumes  towards 
me  that  I  have  been  so  unfortunate  as  to  displease  her. — 
Nothing  of  the  kind  ever  happened  to  Chapeloud ! — It  will 
be  impossible  for  me  to  live  in  the  midst  of  the  annoyances 
that    .    .    .    At  my  age  too !" 

He  went  to  bed,  hoping  to  clear  up  on  the  morrow  the 
cause  of  the  hatred  which  was  destroying  for  ever  the  happi- 
ness he  had  enjoyed  for  two  years  after  wishing  for  it  so 
long.  Alas !  the  secret  motives  of  Mademoiselle  Gamard's 
feeling  against  him  were  destined  to  remain  for  ever  unknown 


THE  VICAR  OF  TOURS 


841 


to  him;  not  because  they  were  difficult  to  guess,  but  because 
the  poor  man  had  not  the  simple  candor  which  enables  great 
minds  and  thorough  scoundrels  to  recognize  and  judge  them- 
selves. Only  a  man  of  genius  or  a  master  of  intrigue  ever 
says  to  himself,  "I  was  to  blame/'  Interest  and  talent  are 
the  only  conscientious  and  lucid  counselors. 

Now,  the  Abbe  Birotteau,  whose  kindliness  went  to  the 
pitch  of  silliness,  whose  knowledge  was  a  sort  of  veneer  laid 
on  by  patient  work,  who  had  no  experience  whatever  of  the 
world  and  its  ways,  and  who  lived  between  the  altar  and  the 
confessional,  chiefly  engaged  in  deciding  trivial  cases  of  con- 
science in  his  capacity  of  confessor  to  the  schools  of  the  town 
and  to  some  noble  souls  who  appreciated  him — the  Abbe 
Birotteau  was,  in  short,  to  be  regarded  as  a  big  baby  to  whom 
the  greater  part  of  social  customs  were  absolutely  unknown. 
At  the  same  time,  the  selfishness  natural  to  all  human  beings, 
reinforced  by  the  egoism  peculiar  to  a  priest,  and  by  that  of 
the  narrow  life  of  a  provincial  town,  had  insensibly  grown 
strong  in  him  without  his  suspecting  it.  If  any  one  had 
taken  enough  interest  in  searching  the  good  man's  soul  to 
show  him  that,  in  the  infinitely  small  details  of  his  existence 
and  the  trivial  duties  of  his  private  life,  he  failed  essentially 
in  the  self-sacrifice  he  professed,  he  would  have  punished  and 
mortified  himself  in  all  sincerity. 

But  those  whom  we  offend,  even  unwittingly,  reck  not  of 
our  innocence ;  they  desire  and  achieve  revenge.  Thus  Birot- 
teau, weak  as  he  was,  was  doomed  to  suffer  under  the  hand  of 
that  great  distributive  Justice  which  always  trusts  the  world 
to  carry  out  its  sentences,  known  to  many  simpletons  as  the 
misfortunes  of  life. 

There  was  this  difference  between  Canon  Chapeloud  and 
.the  Abbe:  one  was  a  witty  and  ingenious  egotist,  the  other 
an  honest  and  clumsy  one.  When  Monsieur  Chapeloud  had 
'  come  to  board  with  Mademoisolle  Gamard,  he  could  perfectly 
well  gauge  his  landlady's  character.  The  confessional  had 
enlightened  him  as  to  the  bitterness  infused  into  an  old  maid's 
heart  by  the  misfortune  of  finding  herself  outside  society; 


342 


THE  VICAR  OF  TOURS 


his  behavior  to  Mademoiselle  Gamard  was  shrewdly  calcu= 
lated.  The  lady  being  no  more  than  eight-and-thirty,  still 
had  those  little  pretensions  which,  in  such  discreet  persons, 
turn  in  later  years  into  a  high  opinion  of  themselves. 

The  Canon  understood  that,  to  live  comfortably  with 
Mademoiselle  Gamard,  he  must  always  show  her  the  same 
respect  and  attention,  and  be  more  infallible  than  the  Pope. 
To  attain  this  end  he  established  no  points  of  contact  between 
himself  and  her  beyond  what  the  strictest  politeness  re- 
quired, and  those  necessarily  subsisting  between  two  persons 
Jiving  under  the  same  roof.  Thus,  though  he  and  the  Abbe 
Troubert  regularly  took  their  three  meals  a  day,  he  had  never 
appeared  at  breakfast,  but  had  accustomed  Mademoiselle 
Gamard  to  send  up  to  him,  in  his  bed,  a  cup  of  coffee  with 
milk.  Then,  he  had  avoided  the  boredom  of  supper  by  always 
taking  tea  at  some  house  where  he  spent  the  evening.  Thus 
he  rarely  saw  his  landlady  at  any  time  of  the  day  excepting 
at  dinner,  but  he  always  came  into  the  room  a  few  minutes 
before  the  hour.  During  this  polite  little  visit,  every  day  of  the 
twelve  years  he  had  spent  under  her  roof  he  had  asked  her 
the  same  questions  and  received  the  same  answers.  How 
Mademoiselle  Gamard  had  slept  during  the  night,  the  break- 
fast, little  domestic  events,  the  appearance  of  her  face,  the 
health  of  her  person,  the  weather,  the  length  of  the  Church 
services,  the  incidents  of  the  morning's  Mass,  the  health  of 
this  or  that  priest,  constituted  the  themes  of  this  daily  dia- 
logue. 

During  dinner  he  always  indulged  her  with  indirect  flat- 
tery, going  on  from  the  quality  of  the  fish,  the  excellence  of 
some  seasoning,  or  the  merits  of  a  sauce,  to  those  of  Made- 
moiselle Gamard  and  her  virtues  as  a  housekeeper.  He  was 
sure  of  soothing  all  the  old  maid's  conceits  when  he  praised 
the  art  with  which  her  preserves  were  made,  her  gherkins 
pickled,  and  the  excellence  of  her  Jam,  her  pies,  and  other 
gastronomical  inventions.  Finally,  the  wily  Canon  never 
quitted  her  yellow  drawing-room  without  remarking  that 
there  was  not  another  house  in  Tours  where  the  coffee  was 
so  good  as  that  he  had  lust  been  drinking. 


THE  VTCAR  OF  TOURS 


Thanks  to  this  perfect  comprehension  of  Mademoisel](! 
Gamard's  character,  and  this  science  of  life  as  practised 
by  the  Canon  for  those  twelve  years,  no  grounds  had  ever 
occurred  for  a  discussion  on  any  matter  of  domestic  disci- 
pline. The  Abbe  Chapeloud  had  from  the  first  discerned 
every  angle,  every  rasping  edge,  every  asperity  in  this  old 
maid,  and  had  so  regulated  the  effect  of  the  tangents  where 
they  inevitably  met,  as  to  secure  from  her  every  concession 
needed  for  peace  and  happiness  in  life.  And  Mademoiselle 
Gamard  would  always  say  that  Canon  Chapeloud  was  a 
most  amiable  man,  very  easy  to  live  with,  and  full  of  wit. 

As  to  the  Abbe  Troubert,  the  bigot  never  by  any  chance 
spoke  of  him.  Troubert  had  so  completely  fallen  into  the 
routine  of  her  life,  like  a  satellite  in  the  orbit  of  its  planet, 
that  he  had  become  to  her  a  sort  of  mongrel  creature  between 
those  of  the  human  and  those  of  the  canine  species ;  he  filled 
a  place  in  her  mind  exactly  below  that  occupied  by  her  friends 
and  that  filled  by  a  fat  asthmatic  pug-dog  to  which  she  was 
tenderly  devoted;  she  managed  him  completely,  and  their 
interests  became  so  inextricably  knit  that  many  persons  of 
Mademoiselle  Gamard's  circle  supposed  that  the  Abbe  Trou- 
bert had  an  eye  to  the  old  maid's  fortune,  and  was  attaching 
her  to  him  by  his  constant  patience,  guiding  her  all  the 
more  effectually  because  he  affected  to  obey  her,  never  allow- 
ing her  to  see  in  him  the  faintest  wish  to  rule  her. 

When  the  Canon  died,  the  old  maid,  anxious  to  have  a 
boarder  of  quiet  habits,  naturally  thought  of  this  priest. 
The  Canon's  will  had  not  yet  been  opened  when  Mademoiselle 
Gamard  was  already  meditating  giving  the  departed  Canon's 
upper  rooms  to  her  v/orthy  Abbe  Troubert,  whom  she  thought 
but  poorly  lodged  on  the  ground  floor.  But  when  the  Abbe 
Birotteau  came  to  discuss  with  her  the  written  conditions 
of  her  terms,  she  found  that  he  was  so  much  in  love  with  the 
lodgings  for  which  he  had  long  cherished  a  passion  he  might 
now  avow,  that  she  did  not  venture  to  propose  an  exchange, 
and  affection  gave  way  before  the  pressure  of  interest.  To 
console  her  favorite  Abbe,  Mademoiselle  substituted  a  parquet 


344 


THE  VICAR  OP  TOURS 


flooring  in  a  neat  pattern  for  the  white  Chateau-'Renaud 
tiles  in  the  ground-floor  rooms,  and  rebuilt  a  chimney  that 
smoked. 

The  Abbe  Birotteau  had  seen  his  friend  Chapeloiid  con- 
stantly for  twelve  years,  without  its  ever  having  occurred  to 
him  to  wonder  why  he  was  so  excessively  circumspect  in  his 
intercourse  with  the  old  maid.  When  he  came  to  live  under 
this  saintly  damsel's  roof  he  felt  like  a  lover  on  the  verge  of 
happiness.  Even  if  he  had  not  been  blinded  by  natural  stu- 
pidity, his  eyes  were  too  much  dazzled  by  contentment  for 
him  to  be  capable  of  gauging  Mademoiselle  Gamard  or  of 
considering  the  due  measure  of  his  daily  relations  with  her. 
Mademoiselle  Gamard,  seen  from  afar,  through  the  prism  of 
the  material  enjoyment  the  Abbe  dreamed  of  finding  with 
her,  appeared  to  him  an  admirable  creature,  a  perfect 
Christian,  an  essentially  charitable  soul,  the  woman  of 
the  Gospel,  the  wise  Virgin  graced  with  the  humble  and  mod- 
est virtues  which  shed  celestial  fragrance  over  life.  And 
thus,  with  all  the  enthusiasm  of  a  man  who  has  reached  a 
long-wished-for  goal,  with  the  simplicity  of  a  child  and  the 
silly  heedlessness  of  an  old  man  devoid  of  worldly  experience, 
he  came  into  Mademoiselle  Gamard's  life  as  a  fly  is  caught  in 
a  spider's  web. 

So  the  first  day  he  was  to  dine  and  sleep  in  the  old  maid's 
house  he  lingered  in  her  drawing-room,  as  much  in  the  wish 
to  make  acquaintance  with  her  as  in  the  inexplicable  embar- 
rassment that  often  troubles  shy  people  and  makes  them  fear 
lest  they  should  be  rude  if  they  break  ofl  a  conversation  to 
leave  the  room.  So  there  he  remained  all  the  evening.  An- 
other old  maid,  a  friend  of  Birotteau's,  Mademoiselle  Salo- 
mon de  Villenoix,  came  in  the  evening.  Then  Mademoiselle 
Gamard  had  the  joy  of  arranging  a  game  of  boston.  The 
Abbe,  as  he  went  to  bed,  thought  he  had  had  a  very  pleasant 
evening. 

As  yet  he  knew  Mademxoiselle  Gamard  and  the  Abbe  Trou- 
bert  but  very  little,  and  saw  only  the  surface.  Few  persons 
ehow  their  faults  unveiled  at  first.   Generally  everybody  tries 


THE  VICAR  OF  TOURS 


845 


to  assume  an  attractive  exterior.  So  Birotteau  conceived  the 
delightful  purpose  of  devoting  his  evenings  to  Mademoiselle 
Gamard  instead  of  spending  them  elsewhere.  The  lady  had 
some  few  years  since  conceived  a  desire  which  revived  more 
strongly  every  day.  This  desire,  common  to  old  men,  and 
even  to  pretty  Y\^omen,  had  become  in  her  a  passion  like  that 
«f  Birotteau  for  his  friend  Chapeloud's  rooms,  and  was 
rooted  in  the  old  maid's  heart  by  the  feelings  of  pride, 
egoism,  envy,  and  vanity  which  are  innate  in.  the  worldly- 
minded.  This  story  repeats  itself  in  every  age.  You  have 
but  slightly  to  enlarge  the  circle  at  the  bottom  of  which 
these  personages  are  about  to  move,  to  find  the  co-efficient 
motive  of  events  which  happen  in  the  highest  ranks  of 
society. 

Mademoiselle  Gamard  spent  her  evenings  at  six  or  eight 
different  houses  by  turns.  Whether  it  was  that  she  was  an- 
noyed at  having  to  seek  company,  and  thought  that  at  her 
age  she  had  a  right  to  expect  some  return ;  whether  her  con- 
ceit was  affronted  by  her  having  no  circle  of  her  own;  or 
whether  it  was  that  her  vanity  craved  the  compliments  and 
amusements  she  saw  her  friends  enjoying, — all  her  ambition 
was  to  make  her  salo7i  a  centre  of  union  towards  which  a 
certain  number  of  persons  would  tend  every  evening  with 
pleasure.  When  Birotteau  and  his  friend  Mademoiselle  Salo- 
mon had  spent  a  few  evenings  in  her  room  with  the  faithful 
and  patient  Abbe  Troubert,  one  night,  as  she  came  out  of 
Saint-Gatien,  Mademoiselle  Gamard  said  to  the  kind  friends 
of  whom  she  had  hitherto  considered  herself  the  slave,  that 
those  who  cared  to  see  her  might  very  well  come  once  a  week 
to  her  house,  where  a  sufficient  party  met  already  to  make 
up  a  game  of  boston ;  that  she  could  not  leave  her  new  boarder, 
the  Abbe  Birotteau,  alone;  that  Mademoiselle  Salomon  had 
not  yet  missed  a  single  evening  of  the  week;  that  she  be- 
longed to  her  boarders;  and  that,  etc.,  etc. 

Her  speech  was  all  the  more  humbly  haughty  and  volubly 
sweet  because  Mademoiselle  Salomon  de  Villenoix  belonged 
to  the  most  aristocratic  circle  in  Tours.    Though  Made- 


346 


THE  VICAR  OP  TOURS 


moiselle  Salomon  came  solely  for  the  x\bbe's  sake,  Made^ 
moiselle  Gamard  triumphed  in  having  her  in  her  drawing- 
room.  Thanks  to  the  Abbe  Birotteau,  she  found  lierself  on 
the  eve  of  succeeding  in  her  great  scheme  of  forming  a  circle 
which  might  become  as  numerous  and  as  agreeable  as  were 
those  of  Madame  de  Listomere,  of  Mademoiselle  Merlin  de  la 
Blottiere,  and  other  devout  persons  in  a  position  to  receive 
the  pious  society  of  Tours.  But,  alas !  the  Abbe  Birotteau 
brought  Mademoiselle  Gamard's  hopes  to  an  overthrow. 

Now,  if  any  persons,  who  have  attained  in  life  the  enjoy- 
ment of  a  iong-wished-for  happiness,  have  entered  into  the 
gladness  the  Abbe  must  have  felt  in  lying  down  to  rest  in 
Chapeloud's  bed,  they  must  also  form  a  slight  notion  of 
Mademoiselle  Gamard's  chagrin  at  the  ruin  of  her  cherished 
scheme.  After  accepting  his  good  fortune  patiently  enough 
for  six  months,  Birotteau  deserted  his  home,  carrying  with 
him  Mademoiselle  Salomon. 

In  spite  of  unheard-of  efforts,  the  ambitious  Gamard  had 
secured  no  more  than  five  or  six  recruits,  whose  fidelity  was 
very  problematical,  and  at  least  four  unfailing  visitors  were 
needed  for  regular  boston.  She  was  consequently  obliged 
to  make  honorable  amends  and  return  to  her  old  friends, 
for  old  maids  are  too  poor  company  to  themselves  not  to 
crave  the  doubtful  pleasures  of  society. 

The  causes  of  this  defection  are  easily  imagined.  Though 
the  Abbe  was  one  of  those  to  whom  Paradise  shall  one  day 
be  opened  in  virtue  of  the  words,  "Blessed  are  the  poor  in 
spirit,"  he,  like  many  fools,  could  not  endure  the  weariness 
inflicted  on  him  by  other  fools.  Unintelligent  persons  are 
like  weeds  that  thrive  in  good  ground ;  they  love  to  be  amused 
m  proportion  to  the  degree  in  which  they  weary  themselves. 
Being  the  incarnation  of  the  dulness  they  suffer  from,  the 
^u-aving  they  perpetually  feel  to  be  divorced  from  themselves 
produces  the  mania  for  excitement,  the  need  to  be  where  they 
are  not,  which  characterizes  them  as  it  does  other  creatures 
who  lack  feeling,  or  whose  lot  is  a  failure,  or  who  suffer  by 
their  own  fault.     Without  understanding  too  clearly  the 


THE  VICAll  OF  TOUnS 


847 


vacuity  and  nullity  of  Mademoiselle  Gamard,  or  discerning 
the  smallness  of  her  mind,  poor  Birottean  discovered,  too  late 
for  happiness,  the  faults  she  had  in  common  with  all  old 
maids,  as  well  as  those  personal  to  herself. 

What  is  evil,  in  other  people,  contrasts  so  strongly  with 
what  is  good,  that  it  generally  strikes  the  eye  before  inflicting 
a  wound.  This  moral  phenomenon  might  at  need  justify 
the  tendency  that  leads  us  all  more  or  loss  to  evil  speaking. 
Socially  speaking,  it  is  so  natural  to  satirize  the  faults  of 
others,  that  we  ought  to  forgive  the  severe  gossip  to  which 
our  own  absurdities  give  rise,  and  wonder  at  nothing  but 
calumny. 

But  the  good  Abbe's  eyes  were  never  at  the  precise  focus 
which  enables  the  worldly  wise  to  see  and  at  once  evade  their 
neighbor's  sharp  tongues;  to  discover  his  landlady's  faults, 
he  was  obliged  to  endure  the  warning  given  by  nature  to  all 
its  creatures,  that  of  suffering. 

Old  maids,  having  never  bent  their  temper  or  their  lives 
to  other  lives  and  other  tempers,  as  woman's  destiny  requires;, 
have  for  the  most  part  a  mania  for  making  everything  about 
them  bend  to  them.  In  Mademoiselle  Gamard  this  feeling 
had  degenerated  into  despotism,  but  this  despotism  could  only 
be  exerted  in  small  things.  For  instance — out  of  a  thousand 
cases — the  basket  of  counters  and  fish  placed  on  the  boston 
table  for  the  Abbe  Birotteau  niust  be  left  on  the  spot  where 
she  had  put  it,  and  the  Abbe  irritated  her  extremely  by 
moving  it,  as  he  did  almost  every  evening.  What  was  the 
cause  of  this  touchiness  foolishly  provoked  by  mere  trifleSj 
and  what  was  its  object?  N'o  one  could  say;  Mademoiselle 
Gamard  herself  did  not  know. 

Though  very  lamblike  by  nature,  the  new  boarder  did  not 
like  to  feel  the  crook  too  often,  any  more  than  a  sheep,  espe- 
cially a  crook  set  with  nails.  Without  understanding  Canon 
Troubert's  amazing  patience,  Birotteau  was  anxious  to  escape 
the  bliss  which  Mademoiselle  Gamard  was  bent  on  seasoning 
to  her  own  taste,  for  she  thought  she  could  compound  happi- 
ness as  she  could  preserves ;  but  the  luckless  priest  set  to  work 


B48 


MB  VICAK  Or^  TOURS 


very  clumsily,  as  a  result  of  his  perfectly  artless  nature. 
So  the  separation  was  not  effected  without  some  clawing  and 
pricking,  to  which  the  Abbe  Birotteau  tried  to-  seem  in- 
sensible. 

By  the  end  of  the  first  year  of  his  life  under  Mademoiselle 
Gamard's  roof  the  Abbe  had  fallen  into  his  old  habits,  spend- 
ing two  evenings  a  week  at  Madame  de  Listo mere's,  three 
with  Mademoiselle  Salomon,  and  the  other  two  with  Made- 
moiselle Merlin  de  la  Blottiere.  These  ladies  moved  in  the 
aristocratic  sphere  of  Tours  society,  to  which  Mademoiselle 
Gamard  was  not  admitted.  So  the  landlady  was  excessively 
indignant  at  the  Abbe's  defection,  Avhich  made  her  aware  of 
her  small  importance:  any  kind  of  selection  implying  some 
contempt  for  the  rejected  object. 

"Monsieur  Birotteau  did  not  find  us  good  enough  corn- 
pan}^,"  the  Abbe  Troubert  v/ould  say  to  Mademoiselle  Ga- 
mard's  friends  when  she  was  obliged  to  give  up  her  "even- 
ings." "He  is  a  wit,  a  gourmet!  He  must  have  fashion, 
luxury,  brilliant  conversation,  the  tittle-tattle  of  the  town." 

And  such  words  always  prompted  Mademoiselle  Gamard 
to  praise  the  Canon's  excellent  temper  at  the  expense  of 
Birotteau's. 

"He  is  not  so  clever  when  all  is  said,"  she  remarked. 
"But  for  Canon  Chapeloud  he  would  never  have  been  re- 
ceived by  Madame  de  Listomere.  Oh,  I  lost  a  great  deal  when 
the  Abbe  Chapeloud  died.  What  an  amiable  man!  and  so 
easy  to  live  with !  Indeed,  in  twelve  years  we  never  had  the 
smallest  difficulty  or  disagreement." 

Mademoiselle  Gamard  painted  so  unflattering  a  portrait 
of  Monsieur  Birotteau  that  her  innocent  boarder  was  regarded 
by  this  citizen  circle,  secretly  hostile  to  the  aristocratic  class, 
as  an  essentially  fractious  man,  very  difficult  to  get  on  with. 
Then  for  a  few  weeks  the  old  maid  had  the  satisfaction  of 
hearing  herself  pitied  by  her  female  friends,  who,  without 
believing  a  word  of  what  they  said,  repeated  again  and  again, 


THE  VICAR  OP  TOURS 


349 


"How  can  you,  who  are  so  gentle  and  so  kind,  have  inspired 
him  with  such  dislike?  "  or,  "Bo  comforted,  dear  Made- 
moiselle Gamard,  every  one  knows  you  too  well  "  and  so 

forth. 

Delighted,  nevertheless,  to  escape  spending  an  evening 
each  week  in  the  Close — the  most  deserted  and  gloomy  spot 
in  all  Tours,  and  the  most  remote  from  the  centre  of  life — 
they  all  blessed  the  Abbe. 

Love  or  hatred  must  constantly  increase  between  two  per- 
sons who  are  always  together:  every  moment  fresh  reasons 
are  found  for  loving  or  hating  better.  Thus  to  Mademoiselle 
Gamard  the  Abbe  Birotteau  became  unendurable.  Eighteen 
months  after  taking  him  as  a  boarder,  just  when  the  good 
man  believed  he  had  found  the  peace  of  contentment  in  the 
silence  of  aversion,  and  prided  himself  on  having  come  so 
comfortably  to  terms  with  the  old  woman,  to  use  his  expres- 
sion, he  was  to  her  the  object  of  covert  persecution  and 
calmly  planned  animosity. 

The  four  capital  facts  of  the  closed  door,  the  forgotten 
slippers,  the  lack  of  fire,  the  candlestick  taken  to  his  roomiS, 
alone  could  betray  the  terrible  enmity  of  which  the  last  effects 
were  not  to  fall  on  him  till  the  moment  when  they  would  be 
irremediable.  As  he  went  to  sleep,  the  good  Abbe  racked  his 
brain,  but  vainly — and,  indeed,  he  must  soon  have  come  to 
the  bottom  of  it — to  account  for  Mademoiselle  Gamard's  sin- 
gularly uncivil  behavior.  In  point  of  fact,  as  he  had  origi- 
nally acted  very  logically,  obeying  the  natural  law  of  his  ego- 
ism, he  could  not  possibly  form  a  guess  as  to  how  he  had  of- 
fended his  landlady.  While  great  things  are  simple  to  un- 
derstand, and  easy  to  express,  the  mean  things  of  life  need 
much  detail.  The  incidents  which  constitute  the  prologue, 
as  it  were,  to  Ihis  parochial  drama,  in  which  the  passions 
will  be  seen  not  less  violent  than  if  they  had  been  excited 
by  important  interests,  necessitated  this  long  introduction, 
and  any  exact  historian  would  have  found  it  difficult  to 
abridge  the  trivial  tale. 


850 


THE  VICAR  OP  TOURS 


When  he  awoke  next  morning,  the  Abbe's  thoughts  were 
so  much  set  on  the  canonry,  that  he  forgot  the  four  circum- 
stances which,  the  evening  before,  had  appeared  to  him  to  be 
sinister  prognostics  of  a  future  full  of  disaster.  Birotteau 
was  not  the  man  to  get  up  without  a  fire;  he  rang  to  an- 
nounce to  Marianne  that  he  was  awake,  and  wanted  her; 
then,  as  he  was  wont,  he  lay  lost  in  a  somnolent,  half-dreamy 
state,  during  which,  as  a  rule,  the  woman  made  the  fire,  and 
dragged  him  gently  from  his  last  doze  by  a  hum  of  inquiry 
and  quiet  bustle — a  sort  of  music  that  he  liked. 

Half  an  hour  went  by,  and  Marianne  had  not  appeared. 
The  Abbe,  already  half  a  Canon,  was  about  to  ring  again, 
when  he  stayed  his  hand  on  hearing  a  man's  step  on  the 
stairs.  In  fact,  the  Abbe  Troubert,  after  discreetly  tapping  at 
the  door,  at  Birotteau 's  bidding  came  in.  This  call  did  not 
surprise  him;  the  priests  were  in  the  habit  of  paying  each 
other  a  visit  once  a  month.  The  Canon  was  at  once  amazed 
that  Marianne  should  not  yet  have  lighted  his  quasi-col- 
league's  fire.  He  opened  a  window,  called  Marianne  in  a 
rough  tone,  and  bid  her  come  up  at  once ;  then,  turning  to  his 
brother  priest,  he  said,  "If  Mademoiselle  should  hear  that 
yoTi  have  no  fire,  she  would  give  Marianne  a  good  scolding." 

After  this  speech  he  inquired  for  Birotteau's  health,  and 
asked  him,  in  an  insinuating  voice,  whether  he  had  any  re- 
cent news  that  could  encourage  his  hope  of  being  made  a 
Canon.  The  Abbe  explained  to  him  what  was  being  done, 
and  guilelessly  told  him  who  the  personages  were  that 
Madame  de  Listomere  was  canvassing,  not  knowing  that 
Troubert  had  never  forgiven  that  lady  for  not  inviting  him 
to  her  house — him — Canon  Troubert,  twice  designate  to  be 
made  Vicar-General  of  the  diocese.  ^ 

It  would  be  impossible  to  meet  with  two  figures  offering 
so  many  points  of  contrast  as  those  of  these  two  priests. 
Troubert,  tall  and  lean,  had  a  bilious  yellow  hue,  while 
Birotteau  was  what  is  familiarly  called  crummy.  His  face, 
round  and  florid,  spoke  of  good-nature  devoid  of  ideas;  while 
Troubert's,  long  and  furrowed  by  deep  wrinkles,  wore  at 


THE  VICAR  OF  TOURS 


851 


times  an  expression  of  irony  and  scorn;  still,  attentive  ex- 
amination was  needed  to  discover  these  feelings.  The  Canon 
was  habitually  and  absolutely  placid,  his  eyelids  almost  always 
lowered  over  a  pair  of  orange-hazel  eyes,  whose  glance  was  at 
will  very  clear  and  piercing.  Red  hair  completed  this  counte- 
nance, which  was  constantly  clouded  under  the  shroud  cast 
over  his  features  by  serious  meditations.  Several  persons 
had  at  first  supposed  him  to  be  absorbed  in  high  and  rooted 
ambition;  but  those  who  thought  they  knew  him  best  had  ' 
ended  by  demolishing  this  opinion,  representing  him  as  stulti- 
fied by  Mademoiselle  Gamard's  tyranny,  or  worn  by  long  fast- 
ing. He  rarely  spoke,  and  never  laughed.  When  he  hap- 
pened to  be  pleasurably  moved,  a  faint  smile  appeared  and 
lost  itself  in  the  furrows  on  his  cheeks. 

Birotteau,  on  the  other  hand,  was  all  expansiveness,  all 
openness;  he  liked  tidbits,  and  could  be  amused  by  a  trifle 
with  the  artlessness  of  a  man  free  from  gall  and  malice.  The 
Abbe  Troubert  at  first  sight  inspired  an  involuntary  feeling 
of  dread,  while  the  Vicar  made  every  one  who  looked  at  him 
smile  kindly.  When  the  tall  Canon  stalked  solemnly  along 
the  cloisters  and  aisles  of  Saint-Gatien,  his  brow  bent,  his 
eye  stem,  he  commanded  respect;  his  bowed  figure  harmo- 
nized with  the  yellow  vaulting  of  the  cathedral;  there  was 
something  monumental  in  the  folds  of  his  gown,  and  worthy 
of  the  sculptors  art.  But  the  good  little  Abbe  moved  withouf' 
dignity,  trotted  and  pattered,  looking  as  if  he  rolled  along. 

And  yet  the  two  men  had  one  point  of  resemblance.  While 
Troubert's  ambitious  looks,  by  making  the  world  afraid  of 
him,  had  perhaps  contributed  to  condemn  him  to  the  modest 
dignity  of  a  mere  Canon,  Birotteau's  character  and  appearance 
seemed  to  stamp  him  for  ever  as  no  more  than  a  vicaire  of  the 
Cathedral.  The  Abbe  Troubert  meanwhile,  at  the  age  of 
fifty,  by  the  moderation  of  his  conduct,  by  the  apparently 
total  absence  of  any  ambition  in  his  aims,  and  by  his  saintly 
life,  had  dispelled  the  fears  his  superiors  had  conceived  of 
his  supposed  cleverness  and  his  alarming  exterior.  Indeed, 
for  a  year  past,  his  health  had  been  seriously  impaired,  so 


THE  VICAR  OF  TOURS 


that  his  early  promotion  to  the  dignity  of  Vicar-General  to 
the  Archbishop  seemed  probable.  His  rivals  even  hoped  for 
his  appointment,  to  enable  them  the  more  effectually  to  pre- 
pare for  their  own,  during  the  short  span  of  life  that  might 
yet  be  granted  him  by  a  malady  that  had  become  chronic. 
Birotteau's  triple  chin,  far  from  suggesting  the  same  hopes, 
displayed  to  the  candidates  who  were  struggling  for  the 
canonry  all  the  symptoms  of  vigorous  health,  and  his  gout 
seemed  to  them  the  proverbial  assurance  of  a  long  life. 

The  Abbe  Chapeloud,  a  man  of  great  good  sense,  whose 
amiability  had  secured  him  the  friendship  of  persons  in  good 
society  and  of  the  various  heads  of  the  diocese,  had  always 
opposed  the  elevation  of  the  Abbe  Troubert,  secretly  and 
with  much  address;  he  had  even  hindered  his  admission  to 
any  of  the  salons  where  the  best  set  in  Tours  were  wont  to 
meet,  though  during  his  lifetime  Troubert  always  treated  him 
with  great  respect,  and  on  all  occasions  showed  him  the  ut- 
most deference.  This  persistent  submissiveness  had  not 
availed  to  change  the  deceased  Canon's  opinion;  during  his 
last  walk  with  Birotteau,  he  had  said  to  him  once  more : 

''Do  not  trust  that  dry  pole  Troubert!  He  is  Sixtus  V. 
reduced  to  the  scale  of  a  bishopric." 

This  was  Mademoiselle  Gamard's  friend  and  messmate, 
who,  the  very  day  after  that  on  which  she  had,  so  to  speak, 
declared  war  with  poor  Birotteau,  had  come  to  call  on  him 
with  every  mark  of  friendliness. 

"You  must  excuse  Marianne/^  said  Troubert  as  she  came 
in.  "I  fancy  she  did  my  room  first.  My  place  is  very  damp, 
and  I  coughed  a  great  deal  during  the  night. — You  are  very 
healthily  situated  here,"  he  added,  looking  up  at  the 
mouldings. 

''Oh,  I  am  lodged  like  a  Canon !"  replied  Birotteau  with  a 
-smile. 

"And  I  like  a  curate,"  replied  the  humble  priest. 

"Yes,  but  before  long  you  will  be  lodged  in  the  Arch- 
bishop's Palace,"  said  the  good  Abbe,  who  only  wanted  that 
everybody  should  be  happy. 


THE  VICAII  OF  TOURS 


353 


^'Oh !  or  in  the  graveyard.  Grod's  will  be  done  !"  and  Trou- 
bert  looked  up  to  heaven  with  a  resigned  air.  "I  came/'  he 
went  on,  "to  beg  you  to  lend  me  the  General  Clergy  List. 
No  one  but  you  has  the  book  at  Tours." 

"Take  it  out  of  the  bookcase/'  replied  Birotteau,  reminded 
by  the  Canon's  last  words  of  all  the  joys  of  his  life. 

The  tall  priest  went  into  the  library,  and  remained,  there 
all  the  time  the  Abbe  was  dressing.  Presently  the  breakfast- 
bell  rang,  and  Birotteau,  reflecting  that  but  for  Troubert's 
visit  he  would  have  had  no  fire  to  get  up  by,  said  to  himself, 
"He  is  a  good  man !" 

The  two  priests  went  down  together,  each  armed  with  an 
enormous  folio,  which  they  laid  on  one  of  the  consoles  in 
the  dining-room. 

"What  in  the  world  is  that  ?"  asked  Mademoiselle  Gamard 
in  sharp  tones,  addressing  Birotteau.  "You  are  not  going 
to  lumber  up  my  dining-room  with  old  books,  I  hope !" 

"They  are  some  books  I  wanted,"  said  the  Abbe  Troubert. 
"Monsieur  is  kind  enough  to  lend  them  to  me." 

"I  might  have  guessed  that/'  said  she  with  a  scornful 
smile.  "Monsieur  Birotteau  does  not  often  study  such  big 
books." 

"And  how  are  you,  mademoiselle?"  asked  the  Abbe  in  a 
piping  voice. 

"Wh}^,  not  at  all  well,"  she  replied  curtly.  "You  were  the 
cause  of  my  being  roused  from  my  first  sleep,,  and  I  felt 
the  effects  all  night."  And  as  she  seated  herself.  Made- 
moiselle Gamard  added,  "Gentlemen,  the  milk  will  get  cold." 

Astounded  at  being  so  sourly  received  by  his  hostess  when 
he  expected  her  to  apologize,  but  frightened,  as  timid  people 
are,  by  the  prospect  of  a  discussion,  especially  when  they 
themselves  are  the  subject  of  it,  the  poor  Abbe  took  his  place 
in  silence.  Then,  recognizing  in  Mademoiselle  Gamard's 
face  the  obvious  symptoms  of  a  bad  temper,  he  sat  warring 
with  his  common-sense,  which  advised  him  not  to  submit  to 
her  want  of  manners,  while  his  nature  prompted  him  to  avoid 
a  quarrel.   Birotteau,  a  prey  to  this  internal  struggle,  began 


354 


THE  VICAR  OF  TOURS 


by  seriously  studying  the  broad-green  stripes  painted  on  the 
oilcloth  cover,  which,  from  immemorial  habit,  Mademoiselle 
Gamard  always  left  on  the  table  during  breakfast,  heedless  of 
the  frayed  edges  and  scars  innumerable  that  covered  this 
cloth.  The  two  boarders  were  seated  opposite  each  other, 
in  cane  armchairs  at  each  end  of  the  table,  a  royal  square; 
the  place  between  them  being  occupied  by  the  landlady,  who 
towered  above  the  table  from  a  chair  mounted  on  runners, 
padded  with  cushions,  and  backing  on  the  dining-room  stove. 
This  room  and  the  common  sitting-room  were  on  the  ground 
floor,  under  the  Abbe  Birotteau's  bedroom  and  drawing-room. 
When  the  Abbe  had  received  from  Mademoiselle  Gamard 
his  cup  of  sweetened  coffee,  he  felt  chilled  by  the  utter  silence 
in  which  he  was  doomed  to  perform  the  usually  cheerful 
function  of  breakfast.  He  dared  not  look  either  at  Troubert's 
expressionless  face,  nor  at  the  old  maid's  threatening  counte- 
nance; so,  to  do  something,  he  turned  to  the  pug-dog,  over- 
burdened with  fat,  lying  near  the  stove  on  a  cushion  whence 
it  never  stirred,  finding  always  on  the  left  a  little  plate  of 
dainties,  and  on  the  right  a  saucer  of  clean  water. 

^^Well,  my  pet,"  said  he,  ^^so  you  want  your  coffee !" 

This  personage,  one  of  the  most  important  members  of  the 
li.ousehold,  but  not  a  troublesome  one,  since  he  never  barked 
now,  and  left  the  conversation  to  his  mistress,  looked  up  at 
Birotteau  with  little  eyes  buried  in  the  folds  of  fat  that 
crinkled  his  face.   Then  he  cunningly  shut  them  again. 

To  give  the  measure  of  the  priest's  discomfiture,  it  must  be 
explained  that,  being  gifted  with  a  voice  and  volubility  as 
resonant  and  meaningless  as  the  sound  of  an  india-rubber 
ball,  he  asserted,  without  being  able  to  give  the  faculty  any 
reason  for  his  opinion,  that  speech  favored  digestion.  Made- 
moiselle Gamard,  who  shared  this  theory  of  hygiene,  had 
never  hitherto  failed  to  converse  during  meals,  notwithstand- 
ing their  misunderstanding;  but  now  for  some  few  days 
the  Abbe  had  racked  his  wits  in  vain  to  ask  her  insidious 
questions  which  might  loosen  her  tongue.  If  the  narrow 
limits  to  which  this  story  is  restricted  would  allow  of  a  report 


HIE  VICAR  OF  TOURS 


855 


in  full  of  one  of  these  conversations  which  always  provoked 
the  Abbe  Troubert's  bitter  and  sardonic  smiles,  it  would  give 
a  perfect  picture  of  the  Boeotian  existence  of  provincials. 
Some  clever  men  might  perhaps  be  even  pleased  to  know  the 
extraordinary  amplitude  given  by  the  Abbe  Birotteau  and 
Mademoiselle  Gamard  to  their  personal  opinions  on  politics, 
religion,  and  literature.  There  would  certainly  be  some  very 
funny  things  to  tell :  such  as  their  reasons,  in  1820,  for 
doubting  the  death  of  Napoleon,  or  the  conjectures  which 
led  them  to  believe  in  the  survival  of  Louis  XVII.,  smuggled 
away  in  a  hollow  log  of  wood.  Who  would  not  have  laughed 
to  hear  them  asserting,  with  arguments  peculiarly  their  own, 
that  the  King  of  France  alone  spent  the  money  collected  in 
taxes ;  that  the  Chambers  met  to  destroy  the  Clergy ;  that 
more  than  thirteen  hundred  thousand  persons  had  perished 
on  the  scaffold  during  the  Revolution  ?  Then  they  discussed 
the  press,  knowing  nothing  of  how  many  newspapers  were 
issued,  having  not  the  smallest  idea  of  what  this  modern 
power  is.  Finally,  Monsieur  Birotteau  listened  respectfully 
to  Mademoiselle  Gamard  when  she  asserted  that  a  man  fed 
m  an  egg  every  morning  would  infallibly  die  at  the  end 
of  a  year,  and  that  it  had  been  known ;  that  a  soft  roll  eaten 
tvithout  drinking  for  a  few  days  would  cure  sciatica;  that 
all  the  workmen  who  had  been  employed  in  the  destruction 
of  the  Abbey  of  Saint-Martin  had  died  within  six  months; 
that  a  certain  prefet  had  done  his  utmost  in  Bonaparte's 
time  to  ruin  the  towers  of  Saint-Gatien,  and  a  thousand 
other  absurd  stories. 

But  at  the  present  juncture  Birotteau  felt  his  tongue  dead 
within  him;  so  he  resigned  himself  to  eating  without  trying 
to  converse.  He  soon  thought  that  such  silence  was  perilous 
to  his  digestion,  and  boldly  said,  "This  is  excellent  coffee !" 
But  the  courageous  act  fell  flat. 

After  looking  at  the  narrow  strip  of  sky  above  the  garden, 
between  the  two  black  buttresses  of  Saint-Gatien,  the  Abbe 
again  was  brave  enough  to  remark,  "It  will  be  finer  to-day 
than  it  was  yesterday.'' 

24 


356 


THE  VICAR  OP  TOURS 


At  this  Mademoiselle  Gamard  did  no  more  than  cast  one 
of  her  most  ingratiating  glances  at  Monsieur  Troiibert,  and 
then  turn  her  eyes  full  of  terrible  severity  on  Birotteau,  who 
was  happily  looking  down. 

No  being  of  the  female  sex  was  better  able  to  assume  the 
elegiac  attitude  of  an  old  maid  than  Mademoiselle  Sophie 
Gamard;  but  to  do  justice  in  describing  a  person  whose 
character  will  give  the  greatest  interest  to  the  trivial  events 
of  this  drama,  and  to  the  antecedent  lives  of  the  figures 
playing  a  part  in  it,  it  will  be  well  here  to  epitomize  the  ideas 
of  which  the  old  maid  is  the  outcome.  The  habits  of  life 
form  the  soul,  and  the  soul  forms  the  countenance.  If  in 
society,  as  in  the  universe,  everything  must  have  a  purpose, 
there  yet  are  on  this  earth  some  existences  of  which  the 
use  and  purpose  are  undiscoverable ;  morality  and  political 
economy  alike  reject  the  individual  that  consumes  without 
producing,  that  fills  a  place  on  earth  without  diffusing  either 
good  or  evil — for  evil,  no  doubt,  is  a  form  of  good  of  which 
the  results  are  not  immediately  manifest.  Very  rarely  does 
an  old  maid  fail  to  place  herself  by  her  own  act  in  this  class 
of  unproductive  creatures.  Now  if  the  consciousness  of  work 
done  gives  productive  beings  a  sense  of  satisfaction  which 
helps  them  to  endure  life,  the  knowledge  that  they  are  a 
burden  on  others,  or  even  merely  useless,  must  produce  the 
contrary  effect,  and  give  to  the  inert  a  contempt  for  them- 
selves as  great  as  that  they  provoke  in  others.  This  stern 
social  reprobation  is  one  of  the  causes  which,  unknown  to 
themselves,  contribute  to  implant  in  their  soul  the  grievance 
which  is  stamped  on  their  faces. 

A  prejudice,  not  perhaps  without  a  basis  of  truth,  every- 
where gives  rise — and  in  France  more  than  elsewhere — to 
marked  disfavor  being  felt  towards  a  woman  with  whom  no 
man  has  chosen  to  share  his  fortunes,  or  to  endure  the  woes 
of  life.  And  an  age  comes  to  unmarried  women  when  the 
world,  rightly  or  wrongly^  condemns  them  on  the  strength 
of  the  disdain  to  which  they  are  victims.  If  ugly,  the 
amiability  of  their  nature  ought  to  have  redeemed  the  im- 


THE  VICAR  OF  TOURS 


857 


perfections  of  their  persons;  if  pi'etty,  their  loneliness  must 
have  its  cause  in  serious  reasons.  It  is  hard  to  decide  which 
of  the  two  classes  is  most  to  be  contemned.  If  their  single 
life  is  deliberately  chosen,  if  it  is  a  determination  to  be  in- 
dependent, neither  men  nor  mothers  can  forgive  them  for 
having  shirked  the  sacrifice  of  woman  by  refusing  to  know 
the  passions  that  make  their  sex  pathetic.  To  reject  its  suf- 
ferings is  to  forego  its  poetry,  to  cease  to  deserve  the  sweet 
consolations  to  which  a  mother  has  always  uncontested  rights. 
Then  the  generous  feelings,  the  exquisite  qualities  of 
woman,  can  only  be  developed  by  constant  exercise.  When 
she  remains  unmarried,  a  creature  of  the  female  sex  is  a 
self-contradiction:  egoistical  and  cold,  she  fills  us  with 
horror. 

This  pitiless  verdict  is  unfortunately  too  just  for  old  maids 
to  misinterpret  its  motives.  These  ideas  germinate  in  their 
heart  as  naturally  as  the  effects  of  their  desolate  life  are 
imprinted  on  their  features.  Thus  they  wither,  because  the 
constant  expansion,  or  the  happiness  that  blooms  in  a 
woman's  face  and  lends  softness  to  her  movements,  has  never 
existed  in  them.  Then  they  grow  harsh  and  discontented, 
because  a  creature  that  fails  of  its  purpose  is  unhappy,  it 
suffers,  and  suffering  brings  forth  viciousness.  In  fact,  be- 
fore an  unmarried  womian  spites  herself  for  her  loneliness, 
she  accuses  the  whole  world,  and  from  accusation  there  is 
but  one  step  to  the  desire  for  revenge. 

Again,  the  ill-grace  that  disfigures  their  persons  is  an  in- 
evitable outcome  of  their  life.  Never  having  felt  the  necessity 
to  please,  elegance  and  good  taste  are  unknown  to  them. 
This  feeling  gradually  leads  them  to  choose  everything  to 
suit  their  own  convenience  at  the  cost  of  what  might  be 
agreeable  to  others.  Without  quite  understanding  their  dis- 
similarity to  other  women,  at  last  they  observe  it  and  suffer 
from  it.  Jealousy  is  an  indelible  passion  in  the  female 
heart.  Old  maids  are  jealous  for  nothing,  and  know  only  the 
woes  of  the  single  passion  which  men  can  forgive  in  women 
because  it  flatters  them.   Thus  tormented  on  every  side,  and 


358 


THE  VICAR  OF  TOURS 


compelled  to  reject  the  development  of  their  nature,  old  maids 
are  always  conscious  of  a  moral  uneasiness  to  which  they 
never  become  accustomed.  Is  it  not  hard  at  any  age,  es- 
pecially for  a  woman,  to  read  a  feeling  of  repugnance  on 
every  face,  when  it  ought  to  have  been  her  fate  to  inspire 
none  but  sensations  of  kindliness  in  the  hearts  of  those 
about  her?  Hence  an  old  maid's  glance  is  always  askance, 
not  so  much  from  modesty  as  from  fear  and  shame. 

Now,  it  is  impossible  that  a  person  perpetually  at  war  with 
herself,  or  at  loggerheads  with  life,  should  leave  others  in 
peace,  and  never  envy  their  happiness.  This  world  of  gloomy 
ideas  lay  complete  in  Mademoiselle  Gamard's  dull  gray  eyes ; 
and  the  broad,  dark  circle  in  which  they  were  set  spoke  of 
the  long  struggles  of  her  solitary  life.  All  the  wrinkles 
on  her  face  were  straight  lines.  The  form  of  her  brow,  head, 
and  cheeks  was  characterized  by  rigidity  and  hardness. 
Without  heeding  them,  she  left  the  hairs,  once  brown,  of 
two  or  three  moles  on  her  chin  to  grow  as  they  would.  Her 
thin  lips  scarcely  covered  her  long  but  sufficiently  white 
teeth.  She  was  dark,  and  her  hair  had  once  been  black, 
but  terrible  headaches  had  turned  it  white.  This  disaster 
led  her  to  wear  a  front;  but  not  knowing  how  to  put  it  on 
so  as  to  conceal  the  junction^  there  often  was  a  small  gap 
between  her  cap-border  and  the  black  ribbon  that  fastened 
this  half-wig,  very  carelessly  curled.  Her  gown,  of  thin 
silk  in  summer,  of  merinos  in  winter,  and  always  of  Car- 
melite brown,  fitted  her  ungraceful  figure  and  thin  arms 
rather  too  closely.  Her  collar,  always  limp,  betrayed  a 
throat  whose  reddish  skin  was  as  finely  lined  as  an  oak  leaf 
boked  at  in  the  light. 

Her  parentage  accounted  for  the  faults  of  her  figure.  She 
was  the  daughter  of  a  dealer  in  fire-logs,  a  peasant  who  had 
nsen  in  the  world.  At  eighteen  she  might  have  been  fresh 
and  plump,  but  not  a  trace  was  now  left  either  of  the  white 
skin  or  the  fine  color  she  boasted  of  having  then  had.  The 
hues  of  her  complexion  had  acquired  the  dull  pallor  com- 
mon enough  in  very  devout  persons.    An  aquiline  nose  was 


THE  VICAR  OF  TOURS 


S59 


©f  all  her  features  that  which  most  strongly  expressed  the 
despotism  of  her  ideas,  just  as  the  flatness  of  her  forehead 
re^vealed  her  narrowness  of  mind.  Her  movements  had  an 
odd  abruptness  bereft  of  all  grace;  and  only  to  see  her  pull 
her  handkerchief  out  of  her  bag  and  loudly  blow  her  nose 
would  have  told  you  what  her  character  and  habits  were. 
Fairly  tall,  she  held  herself  very  upright,  justifying  the  re- 
mark of  a  naturalist,  who  explains  the  stiffness  of  old  maids 
physiologically  by  declaring  that  all  their  joints  anchylose. 
She  walked  so  that  the  motion  did  not  distribute  itself 
equally  over  her  whole  person,  or  produce  the  graceful  un- 
dulations that  are  so  attractive  in  a  woman;  she  moved  all 
of  a  piece,  so  to  speak,  seeming  to  lift  herself  at  every  step, 
like  the  statue  of  the  Commendatore.  In  her  moments  of 
good-humor  she  would  give  it  out,  as  all  old  maids  do,  that 
she  could  have  been  married,  but  that,  happily,  she  had  found 
cut  her  lover's  faithlessness  in  time,  and  she  thus,  without 
knowing  it,  passed  judgment  on  her  heart  in  favor  of  her 
sense  of  self-interest. 

This  typical  figure  of  an  old  maid  was  suitably  set  against 
a  background  of  the  grotesque  pattern,  representing  Turkish 
landscapes,  of  a  satin  wall-paper  with  which  the  dining- 
room  was  hung.  Mademoiselle  Gamard  habitually  occupied 
this  room,  ornamented  by  two  consoles  and  a  barometer.  In 
the  place  occupied  by  each  priest  was  a  little  footstool  in 
worsted  work  of  faded  hues. 

The  public  sitting-room,  where  she  received  company,  was 
worthy  of  her.  The  room  will  be  at  once  familiar  when  it  is 
known  that  it  went  by  the  name  of  the  yellow  drawing-room ; 
the  hangings  were  yellow,  the  furniture  and  wall-paper  yel- 
low; on  the  chimney-shelf,  in  front  of  a  mirror  with  a  gilt 
frame,  candlesticks  and  a  clock  in  cut  glass  reflected  a  hard 
glitter  to  the  eye.  As  to  Mademoiselle  Gamard's  private 
sanctum,  no  one  had  ever  been  allowed  to  enter  it.  It  could 
only  be  conjectured  that  it  was  full  of  the  odds  and  ends, 
the  shabby  furniture,  the  rags  and  tatters,  so  to  speak,  which 
all  old  maids  collect  and  cling  to  so  fondly. 


360 


THE  VICAR  OP  TOURS 


This  was  the  woman  who  was  destined  to  exert  the  greatest 
influence  over  the  Abbe  Birotteau's  latter  days.  Having 
failed  to  exercise  the  energies  bestowed  on  woman  in  the  way 
intended  by  nature,  and  urged  by  the  need  of  expending 
them,  this  old  maid  had  thrown  them  into  the  sordid  intrigue, 
the  petty  tittle-tattle  of  provincial  life,  and  the  selfish  schem- 
ing which  at  last  exclusively  absorbs  all  old  maids. 

Birotteau,  for  his  woe,  had  developed  in  Sophie  Gamard 
the  only  feelings  this  unhappy  creature  could  possibly  know, 
those  of  hatred;  these,  till  now  latent,  as  a  result  of  the  calm 
monotony  of  a  country-town  life,  whose  horizon  was  to  her 
more  especially  narrow,  were  presently  to  become  all  the 
more  intense  for  being  wreaked  on  small  things,  and  in  a 
narrow  sphere  of  activity.  Birotteau  was  one  of  those  men 
who  are  predestined  to  suffer  everything,  because,  as  they 
never  foresee  anything,  they  can  avoid  nothing;  everything 
falls  on  them. 

"Yes,  it  will  be  fine,"  the  Canon  replied  after  a  pause, 
seeming  to  come  out  of  his  meditations  and  to  wish  to  fulfil 
the  laws  of  good  manners. 

Birotteau^  frightened  at  the  time  that  had  elapsed  be- 
tween the  remark  and  the  reply,  since  he,  for  the  first  tim.e 
in  his  life,  had  swallowed  his  coffee  without  speaking,  left 
the  dining-room,  where  his  heart  was  held  as  in  a  vise.  Feel- 
ing his  cup  of  coffee  lie  heavy  on  his  stomach,  he  went  to 
walk,  sadly  enough,  up  and  down  the  narrow  box-edged 
paths  which  marked  out  a  star  in  the  garden.  But  as  he 
turned  after  his  first  round,  he  saw  the  Abbe  Troubert  and 
Mademoiselle  Gamard  standing  at  the  glass  door  of  the 
drawing-room ;  he  with  his  arms  crossed,  as  motionless  as  the 
statue  on  a  tomb,  she  leaning  against  the  shutter-door.  Both, 
as  they  watched  him,  seemed  to  be  counting  the  number  of 
his  steps. 

To  a  timid  person  there  is  nothing  so  distressing  as  being 
the  object  of  inquisitive  inspection;  when  it  is  made  by 
,the  eyes  of  hatred,  the  sort  of  suffering  it  inflicts  becomes 
an  intolerable  martyrdom.    Presently  the  Abbe  fancied  that 


THE  VICAK  OF  TOURS 


361 


he  was  hindering  Mademoiselle  Gamard  and  the  Canon  from 
taking  their  walk.  This  notion,  inspired  alike  by  fear  and 
by  good-nature,  acquired  such  proportions,  that  he  abandoned 
the  place.  He  went  away,  already  thinking  no  more  of  his 
canonry,  so  greatly  was  he  worried  by  the  woman's  madden- 
ing tyranny. 

By  chance,  and  happily  for  him,  he  was  kept  very  busy 
at  Saint-Gatien,  where  there  were  several  funerals,  a  mar- 
riage, and  two  baptisms.  This  enabled  him  to  forget  his 
troubles.  When  his  appetite  warned  him  of  the  dinner  hour, 
he  took  out  his  watch  in  some  alarm,  seeing  that  it  was  some 
minutes  past  four.  He  knew  Mademoiselle  Gamard's 
punctuality,  so  he  hurried  home. 

He  saw  the  first  course  brought  down  again  as  he  passed 
the  kitchen.  Then  on  going  into  the  dining-room,  the  old 
maid  said  to  him  in  a  tone  of  voice  which  betrayed  alike  the 
harshness  of  a  reproof  and  the  glee  of  finding  her  boarder 
in  fault,  "It  is  half -past  four.  Monsieur  Birotteau;  you 
knew  we  should  not  wait  for  you.^^ 

The  priest  looked  at  the  dining-room  clock,  and  the  ar- 
rangement of  the  gauze  wrapper,  intended  to  protect  it  from 
dust,  showed  him  that  his  landlady  had  wound  it  in  the 
course  of  the  morning,  and  had  allowed  herself  the  pleasure 
of  setting  it  faster  than  the  clock  of  Saint-Gatien's.  There 
was  nothing  to  be  said.  The  least  word  of  the  suspicion  he 
had  conceived  would  have  sprung  the  most  terrible  and 
plausible  of  those  explosions  of  eloquence  which  Mademoiselle 
Gamard,  like  all  women  of  her  class,  could  give  vent  to  in 
such  cases. 

The  thousand-and-one  vexations  that  a  maid-servant  can 
inflict  on  her  master,  or  a  wife  on  her  husband,  in  the  daily 
course  of  ,private  life,  were  imagined  by  Mademoiselle  Ga- 
mard, who  "heaped  them  on  her  border.  The  way  in  which  she 
plotted  her  conspiracies  against  the  poor  Abbe's  domestic 
comfort  bore  the  stamp  of  deeply  malignant  genius.  She 
contrived  never  to  be  in  the  wrong. 

By  the  end  of  a  week  after  the  opening  of  this  tale. 


362 


THE  VICAR  OF  TOURS 


his  life  in  the  house,  and  his  position  towards  Mademoiselle 
Gamard,  revealed  to  him  a  plot,  hatching  for  six  months 
past.  So  long  as  the  old  maid  had  been  covert- in  her  re- 
venge, and  the  priest  could  voluntarily  keep  up  his  self-deceit, 
refusing  to  believe  in  her  malevolent  purpose,  the  moral  ef- 
fects had  made  no  great  progress  in  him.  But  since  the  in- 
cidents of  the  displacement  of  the  candlestick  and  the  clock 
put  too  fast,  Birotteau  could  no  longer  doubt  that  he  was 
living  under  the  rule  of  an  aversion  that  kept  an  ever-watch- 
ful eye  on  him.  From  this  he  rapidly  sank  into  despair,  for 
ever  seeing  Mademoiselle  Gamard's  lean  and  talon-like  fin- 
gers ready  to  claw  his  heart. 

The  old  maid,  happy  in  living  on  a  sentiment  so  teeming 
with  excitement  as  revenge  is,  delighted  in  hovering  and 
wheeling  above  the  Abbe  as  a  bird  of  prey  hovers  and 
circles  over  a  field  mouse  before  seizing  it.  '  She  had  long 
plotted  a  scheme  which  the  bewildered  priest  could  not  pos- 
sibly guess,  and  which  she  soon  began  to  unfold,  showing 
the  genius  that  can  be  displayed  in  small  things  by  isolated 
beings  whose  soul,  incapable  of  apprehending  the  grandeur 
of  true  piety,  has  lost  itself  in  the  trivialities  of  devotion. 
The  last  and  most  frightful  aggravation  of  his  torments  was 
that  the  nature  of  them  prohibited  Birotteau,  an  effusive 
man  who  loved  to  be  pitied  and  comforted,  from  enjoying 
the  little  solace  of  relating  them  to  his  friends.  The  small 
amount  of  tact  he  owed  to  his  shyness  made  him  dread  ap- 
pearing ridiculous  by  troubling  himself  about  such  silly 
trifles.  At  the  same  time,  these  silly  trifles  made  up  his 
whole  life,  the  life  he  loved,  full  of  busy  vacuity  and  vacuous 
business,  a  dull,  gray  life,  in  which  too  strong  a  feeling  was 
a  misfortune,  and  the  absence  of  all  excitement  is  happi- 
ness. Thus  the  poor  Abbe's  paradise  had  suddenly  become 
a  hell.   In  short,  his  torments  were  intolerable. 

The  terror  with  which  he  contemplated  an  explanation 
with  Mademoiselle  Gamard  grew  daily,  and  the  secret  mis- 
fortunes which  blighted  every  hour  of  his  old  age  injured 
his  health.    One  morning,  as  he  put  on  his  speckled  blue 


THE  VICAR  OF  TOURS 


363 


stockings,  he  observed  that  the  circumference  of  his  calf 
had  shrunk  by  eight  lines.  Appalled  at  such  a  terribly  un- 
mistakable symptom,  he  determined  to  make  an  effort  to 
persuade  the  Abbe  Troubert  to  intervene  officially  between 
himself  and  Mademoiselle  Gamard. 

When  he  found  himself  in  the  presence  of  the  imposing 
Canon,  who  came  out  of  a  study  crammed  with  papers,  where 
he  was  always  at  work,  admitting  nobody,  to  receive  him  in  a 
bare  room,  the  Abbe  was  almost  ashamed  to  speak  of  Made-  \ 
moiselle  Gramard's  petty  aggravations  to  a  man  who  seemed 
so  seriously  occupied.  But  after  having  suffered  all  the 
misery  of  mental  deliberation  which  humble,  weak,  or  ir^ 
resolute  persons  go  through,  even  with  regard  to  trifles,  he 
made  up  his  mind  to  explain  the  position  to  the  Canon, 
not  without  feeling  his  heart  swollen  by  extraordinary  throbs. 
Troubert  listened  with  a  cold,  grave  air,  trying,  but  in  vain, 
to  control  some  smiles,  which,  to  intelligent  eyes,  might  have 
betrayed  the  satisfaction  of  a  secret  desire,  A  flash  sparkled 
in  his  eye  when  Birotteau  described  to  him,  with  the  eloquence 
lent  by  true  emotion,  the  bitterness  that  was  incessantly 
poured  out  for  him;  but  Troubert  at  once  covered  his  eyes 
with  his  hands,  a  gesture  common  to  great  thinkers,  and  pre- 
served his  habitually  dignified  attitude. 

When  the  Abbe  ceased  speaking  he  would  have  been  puz- 
zled indeed  if  he  had  tried  to  read  any  sign  of  the  feelings 
he  imagined  he  should  incite  in  this  mysterious  priest,  on 
his  face,  mottled  now  with  yellow  patches — yellower  than 
even  his  usual  bilious  complexion.  After  a  moment's  silence, 
the  Canon  made  one  of  those  replies  of  which  every  word 
must  have  been  carefully  studied  to  give  them  their  full 
bearing,  but  which  subsquentl}^  showed  to  capable  persons 
the  amazing  depth  of  his  mind  and  the  power  of  his  in- 
tellect. 

He  finally  crushed  Birotteau  by  saying  that  all  these  things 
surprised  him  the  more,  because,  but  for  his  brother's  ex- 
planation, he  would  never  have  discerned  them.  He  ascribed 
this  dulness  of  perception  to  his  important  occupations,  to 


364 


THE  VICAR  OF  TOURS 


his  work,  and  to  the  supremacy  of  certain  lofty  thoughts, 
which  did  not  allow  of  his  heeding  the  trivialities  of  life. 
He  pointed  out,  but  without  assuming  the  airs  of  wishing 
to  censure  the  conduct  of  a  man  whose  years  and  learning 
commanded  his  respect,  that  "the  hermits  of  old  rarely 
thought  about  their  food,  or  their  dwelling  in  the  deserts, 
where  they  gave  themselves  up  to  holy  contemplation,"  and 
that  "in  our  days  the  priest  could,  in  mind,  make  a  desert 
for  himself  in  every  place."  Then,  returning  to  Birotteau, 
he  remarked  that  "such  squabbles  were  a  quite  new  thing  to 
him.  During  twelve  years  nothing  of  the  kind  had  ever 
arisen  between  Mademoiselle  Gamard  and  the  venerated  Abbe 
Chapeloud.  As  for  himself,  he  could,  no  doubt,  act  as  moder- 
ator between  the  priest  and  their  landlady,  since  his  friend- 
ship for  her  did  not  overstep  the  limits  imposed  by  the  laws 
of  the  Church  on  its  faithful  ministers;  but  then  justice 
would  require  that  he  should  also  h6ar  Mademoiselle  Gamard. 
At  the  same  time,  he  discerned  no  change  in  her;  he  had 
always  seen  her  thus;  he  had  willingly  yielded  to  some  of 
her  vagaries,  knowing  that  the  excellent  woman  was  kind- 
ness and  sweetness  itself;  these  little  caprices  of  temper 
were  to  be  ascribed  to  the  sufferings  caused  by  a  pulmonary 
trouble,  of  which  she  never  spoke,  resigning  herself  to  it 
as  a  true  Christian."  He  ended  by  saying  that  "when  he 
should  have  lived  a  few  years  longer  with  Mademoiselle, 
he  would  appreciate  her  better,  and  recognize  the  beauties  of 
her  admirable  character." 

The  Abbe  Birotteau  came  away  bewildered.  Under  the 
absolute  necessity  of  taking  counsel  with  himself  alone,  he 
gauged  Mademoiselle  Gamard  by  himself.  The  poor  man 
thought  that  by  absenting  himself  for  a  few  days  this  wo- 
man's hatred  would  burn  itself  out  for  lack  of  fuel.  So  he 
determined  to  go,  as  he  had  done  before  now,  to  spend 
some  time  at  a  country  place  where  Madame  de  Listomere 
always  went  at  the  end  of  the  autumn,  a  season  when,  in 
Touraine,  the  sky  is  usually  clear  and  mild.  Poor  man! 
He  was  thus  carrying  out  the  secret  wishes  of  liis  terrible 


THE  VICAR  OIV  TOUKS 


365 


enemy,  whose  schemes  could  not  be  thwarted  by  anything 
short  of  monk-like  endurance;  while  he,  guessing  nothing, 
and  not  knowing  his  own  business  even,  was  doomed  to  fall 
like  a  lamb  under  the  first  blow  from  the  butcher. 

Lying  on  the  slope  between  the  town  of  Tours  and  the 
heights  of  Saint-Georges,  facing  the  south,  and  sheltered 
by  cliffs,  Madame  do  Listomere's  estate  combined  all  the' 
charms  of  the  country  with  the  pleasures  of  the  town.  It 
was  not  more  than  a  ten-minutes'  drive  from  the  Bridge  of 
Tours  to  the  gate  of  this  house,  known  as  VAlouette  (the 
Lark) — an  immense  convenience  in  a  place  where  no  one 
will  disturb  himself  for  any  earthly  thing,  not  even  in  quest 
of  pleasure. 

The  Abbe  Birotteau  had  been  about  ten  days  at  I'Alouette, 
when  one  morning,  at  the  breakfast  hour,  the  lodge- 
keeper  came  to  tell  him  that  Monsieur  Caron  wished  to  speak 
with  him.  Monsieur  Caron  was  a  lawyer  employed  by  Made- 
moiselle Gamard.  Birotteau,  not  remembering  this,  and 
conscious  of  no  litigious  difficulty  to  be  settled  with  anybody 
in  the  world,  left  the  table,  not  without  some  anxiety,  to 
meet  the  lawyer ;  he  found  him  sitting  modestly  on  the  para- 
pet of  a  terrace. 

"Yo'ir  intention  of  remaining  no  longer  as  a  resident 
under  Mademoiselle  Gamard's  roof  being  now  quite  evi- 
dent "  the  man  of  business  began. 

"Dear  me,  monsieur,"  cried  Birotteau,  interrupting  him, 
"I  never  thought  of  leaving  her." 

"And  yet,  monsieur,"  the  lawyer  went  on,  "you  must  cer- 
tainly have  expressed  yourself  to  that  effect  to  Mademoiselle, 
since  she  has  sent  me  to  inquire  whether  you  intend  remain- 
ing long  in  the  country.  The  event  of  a  prolonged  absence  not 
having  been  provided  for  in  your  agreement,  might  give  rise 
to  some  discussion.  Nov/,  as  Mademoiselle  Gamard  under- 
stands it,  your  board  " 

"Monsieur,"  said  Birotteau  in  surprise,  and  again  inter- 
rupting the  lawyer,  "1  did  noi  (hiulc  it  could  be  necessary  to 
take  steps,  almost  legal  in  their  nature  to- — 


366 


THE  VICAU  OF  TOURS 


"Mademoiselle  Gamard,  wishing  to  preclude  any  difficulty/' 
said  Monsieur  Caron,  "has  sent  me  to  come  to  an  understand- 
ing with  you." 

"Very  well,  if  you  will  be  so  obliging  as  to  call  again  to- 
morrow, I,  on  my  part,  will  have  taken  advice." 
"So  be  it,"  said  Caron  with  a  bow. 

The  scrivener  withdrew.  The  hapless  priest,  appalled  by 
the  pertinacity  of  Mademoiselle  Gamard's  persecution,  went 
back  to  Madame  de  Listomere's  dining-room  looking  quite 
upset.  At  his  mere  appearance  every  one  asked  him,  "Why, 
Monsieur  Birotteau,  what  is  the  matter  ?" 

The  Abbe,  greatly  distressed,  sat  down  without  answering, 
so  overwhelmed  was  he  by  the  ^^ague  vision  of  his  misfortune. 
But  after  breakfast,  when  several  of  his  friends  had  gathered 
round  a  good  fire  in  the  drawing-room,  Birotteau  artlessly 
told  them  the  tale  of  his  catastrophe.  The  hearers,  who 
were  just  beginning  to  be  bored  by  their  stay  in  the  coun- 
try, were  deeply  interested  in  an  intrigue  so  completely  in 
keeping  with  provincial  life.  Everybody  took  the  Abbe's 
part  against  the  old  maid. 

"Why !"  cried  Madame  de  Listomere,  "do  you  not  plainly 
see  that  the  Abbe  Troubert  wants  your  rooms?" 

In  this  place  the.  historian  would  have  a  right  to  sketch 
this  lady's  portrait ;  but  it  occurs  to  him  that  even  those 
persons  to  whom  Sterne's  cognomology  is  unlniown  could 
surely  not  utter  the  three  words  Madame  de  LisTOM:fcRE 
without  seeing  her — noble  and  dignified,  tempering  the  au- 
sterity of  piety  by  the  antique  elegance  of  monarchical  and 
classic  manners  and  polite  distinction;  kind,  but  a  little  for- 
mal; speaking  slightly  through  her  nose;  allowing  herself 
to  read  la  Nouvelle  Helo'ise,  and  to  go  to  the  play;  still 
wearing  her  own  hair. 

"The  Abbe  Birotteau  must  certainly  not  yield  to  that  nag= 
ging  old  woman !"  cried  Monsieur  de  Listomere,  a  lieutenant 
in  the  navy,  spending  a  holiday  Avith  his  aunt.  "If  the  Abbe 
has  any  courage,  and  will  follow  my  advice,  he  will  soon  have 
recovered  his  peace  of  mind." 

In   short,   everybody   began   to   analyze  Mademoiselle 


THE  VICAR  OF  'I  OURS 


367 


Gramard's  proceedings  with  the  acumen  peculiar  to  provin- 
cials, who,  it  certainly  cannot  be  denied,  possess  the  talent 
of  laying  bare  the  most  secret  human  actions. 

"You  have  not  hit  the  mark,"  said  an  old  landowner  who 
knew  the  country.  "There  is  something  very  serious  under 
this  which  I  have  not  yet  mastered.  The  Abbe  Troubert  is 
far  too  deep  to  be  so  easily  seen  through.  Our  good  friend 
Birotteau  is  only  at  the  beginning  of  his  troubles.  In  the 
first  place,  would  he  be  happy  and  left  in  peace  even  if  he 
gave  up  his  rooms  to  Troubert?  I  doubt  it. — If  Caron  came 
to  tell  you,"  he  went  on,  turning  to  the  puzzled  Abbe,  "that 
you  had  intended  to  leave  Mademoiselle  Gamard,  with  the 
object  of  getting  you  out  of  her  house.  .  .  .  Well,  you 
will  have  to  go,  willy  nilly.  That  kind  of  man  never  risks  a 
chance;  they  only  play  when  they  hold  the  trumps." 

This  old  gentleman,  a  certain  Monsieur  de  Bourbonne, 
epitomized  provincial  ideas  as  completely  as  Voltaire  epito- 
mized the  spirit  of  his  time.  This  withered  little  old  man 
professed  in  matters  of  dress  all  the  indifference  of  a  pro- 
prietor whose  estate  has  a  quotable  value  in  the  department. 
His  countenance,  tanned  by  the  sun  of  Touraine,  was  shrewd 
rather  than  clever.  He  was  accustomed  to  weigh  his  words, 
to  consider  his  actions,  and  he  concealed  his  deep  caution 
under  a  delusive  bluntness.  The  very  least  observation  was 
enough  to  discover  that,  like  a  Norman  peasant,  he  would 
get  the  advantage  in  every  stroke  of  business.  He  was  great 
in  oenology — the  favorite  science  of  the  Tourangeaux.  He 
had  managed  to  extend  the  circle  of  one  of  his  estates  by  tak- 
ing in  the  alluvial  land  of  the  Loire  without  getting  into  a 
lawsuit  with  the  State.  This  achievement  had  established  his 
reputation  as  a  clever  man.  If,  charmed  by  Monsieur  de 
Bourbonne's  conversation,  you  had  asked  his  biography  of  one 
of  his  fellow-provincials,  "Oh !  he  is  a  cunning  old  fox," 
would  have  been  the  proverbial  reply  of  all  who  envied  him., 
and  they  were  many.  In  Touraine,  as  in  most  provinces, 
jealousy  lies  at  the  base  of  the  tongue. 

Monsieur  de  Bourbonne's  remark  caused  a  brief  silence. 


368 


THE  VICAR  OF  TOURS 


during  which  the  members  of  this  little  committee  seemed 
lost  in  thought. 

At  this  juncture  Mademoiselle  Salomon  de  Villenoix  was 
announced.  She  had  just  come  from  Tours,  prompted  by 
her  wish  to  be  of  service  to  Birotteau,  and  the  news  she 
brought  completely  changed  the  aspect  of  affairs.  At  the 
moment  when  she  came  in,  every  one  but  the  landowner  was 
advising  Birotteau  to  hold  his  own  against  Troubert  and 
Gamard,  under  the  auspices  of  the  aristocratic  party,  who 
would  support  him. 

"The  Vicar-General,"  said  Mademoiselle  Salomon,  "who 
has  all  the  promotions  in  his  hands,  has  just  been  taken  ill, 
and  the  Archbishop  has  commissioned  Canon  Troubert  to 
act  in  his  place.  The  nomination  to  the  canonry  now  de- 
pends entirely  on  him.  N'ow  yesterda}^,  at  Mademoiselle  de 
la  Blottiere's,  the  Abbe  Poirel  was  speaking  of  the  annoyances 
Monsieur  Birotteau  occasioned  to  Mademoiselle  Garaard,  in 
such  a  way  as  to  seem  to  justify  the  neglect  which  will  cer- 
tainly fall  on  our  good  Abbe.  *The  Abbe  Birotteau  is  a  man 
who  badly  needed  the  x\bbe  Chapeloud,'  said  he,  ^and  since 

that  virtuous  Canon's  death  it  has  been  -proved  that  ' 

Then  came  a  series  of  suppositions  and  calumnies. — You  un- 
derstand ?" 

"Troubert  will  be  made  Vicar-General,"  said  Monsieur  de 
Bourbonne  solemnly.  ^ 

"Come  now,"  cried  Madame  de  Listomere,  looking  at 
Birotteau,  "which  would  you  prefer — to  be  made  Canon,  or 
to  remain  with  Mademoiselle  Gamard?" 

"To  be  made  Canon,"  v/as  the  general  outcry. 

"A¥ell,  then,"  Madame  de  Listomere  went  on,  "the  Abbe  . 
Troubert  and  Mademoiselle  Gamard  must  be  allowed  to  have 
their  way.    Have  they  not  conveyed  to  you  indirectly  by 
Caron's  visit  that,  provided  you  consent  to  leave  your  rooms, 
you  shall  be  made  Canon?    One  good  turn  for  anothei." 

Everyone  exclaimed  at  Madame  de  Listomere's  acumen 
and  sagacity;  but  her  nephew,  the  Baron  de  Listomere,  said 
in  a  comical  tone  to  Monsieur  de  Bourbonne : 


THE  VICAR  OF  TOURS 


"I  should  have  liked  to  see  the  battle  between  the  Gamard 
and  the  Birotteauf 

But,  for  the  Abbe's  worse  luck,  the  forces  were  not  equal, 
with  the  worldly-wise  on  one  side,  and  the  old  maid  upheld 
by  the  Abbe  Troubert  on  the  other.  The  time  was  at  hand 
when  the  struggle  would  become  more  decisive,  and  assume  a 
greater  scope  and  immense  proportions. 

By  the  advice  of  Madame  de  Listomere  and  most  of  her 
adherents,  who  were  beginning  to  take  a  passionate  inter- 
est in  this  intrigue  flung  into  the  vacuity  of  their  country 
life,  a  footman  was  despatched  for  Monsieur  Caron.  The 
lawyer  returned  with  amazing  promptitude,  a  fact  that 
alarmed  no  one  but  Monsieur  de  Bourbonne. 

"Let  us  adjourn  any  decision  till  we  have  fuller  informa- 
tion,'' was  the  advice  of  this  Fabius  in  a  dressing-gown, 
whose  deep  reflections  revealed  to  him  some  abstruse  plan  of 
battle  on  the  Tours  chessboard. 

He  tried  to  enlighten  Birotteau  as  to  the  perils  of  his 
position.  But  the  "old  fox's"  shrewdness  did  not  subserve 
the  frenzy  of  the  moment;  he  was  scarcely  listened  to. 

The  meeting  between  the  lawyer  and  Birotteau  was  brief. 
The  Abbe  came  in  looking  quite  scared,  and  saying,  "He  re- 
quires me  to  sign  a  paper  declaring  my  decession." 

"What  barbarous  word  is  that?"  said  the  navy  lieuten- 
ant. 

"And  what  does  it  mean?"  cried  Madame  de  Listomere. 

"It  simply  means  that  the  Abbe  is  to  declare  his  readiness 
to  leave  Mademoiselle  Gamard's  house,"  replied  Monsieur  de 
Bourbonne,  taking  a  pinch  of  snuff. 

"Is  that  all  ? — Sign  it !"  said  Madame  de  Listomere  to 
Birotteau.  "If  you  have  really  made  up  your  mind  to  quit 
her  house,  there  can  be  no  harm  done  by  declaring  your  will." 
—The  Will  of  Birotteau ! 

"That  is  true,"  said  Monsieur  de  Bourbonne,  shutting  his 
snuff-box  with  a  dry  snap,  of  which  it  is  impossible  to  ren- 
der the  full  meaning,  for  it  was  a  language  by  itself.  "But 


STO 


l^HE  ViCAR  OF  TOURS 


writing  is  always  dangerous/'  lie  added,  placing  the  snuff- 
box on  the  chimney-shelf  with  a  look  that  terrified  the 
Abbe. 

Birotteau  was  so  bewildered  by  the  uphea^/al  of  all  his 
ideas,  by  the  swiftness  of  events  which  had  come  on  him 
and  found  him  defenceless,  and  by  the  lightness  with  which 
his  friends  treated  the  most  cherished  circumstances  of  his 
lonely  life,  that  he  remained  motionless,  as  if  lost  in  the 
moon,  not  thinking  of  anything,  but  listening  and  trying  to 
catch  the  sense  of  the  hasty  words  everybody  else  was  so 
ready  with.  He  took  up  Monsieur  Caron's  document,  and 
read  it  as  though  the  lawyer's  deed  were  in  fact  the  object 
of  his  attention ;  but  it  was  merely  mechanical,  and  he  signed 
the  paper  by  which  he  declared  himself  ready  and  willing 
to  give  up  his  residence  with  Mademoiselle  Gamard  as  well 
as  his  board,  as  provided  by  the  agreement  between  them. 
When  Birotteau  had  signed  the  deed,  Caron  took  it,  and 
asked  him  where  his  client  was  to  bestow  the  goods  and  chat- 
tels belonging  to  him.  Birotteau  mentioned  Madame  de  Lis- 
toniere's  house,  and  the  lady  by  a  nod  consented  to  receive 
the  Abbe  for  some  days,  never  doubting  but  that  he  would 
ere  long  be  made  a  Canon.  The  old  landowner  wished  .to  see 
this  sort  of  act  of  renunciation,  and  Monsieur  Caron  handed 
it  to  him. 

"Why,"  said  he  to  the  Abbe,  after  having  read  it,  "is 
there  any  written  agreement  between  you  and  Mademoiselle 
Gamard?   Where  is  it?   What  are  the  conditons?" 

"The  paper  is  in  my  rooms,"  said  Birotteau. 

"Do  you  know  its  contents  ?"  the  old  gentleman  asked  the 
lawyer. 

"No,  monsieur,"  said  Monsieur  Caron,  holding  out  his 
hand  for  the  ominous  document. 

"Ah,  ha!"  said  Monsieur  de  Bourbonne  to  himself,  "you, 
master  law3^er,  are  no  doubt  informed  of  what  that  agree- 
ment contains,  but  you  are  not  paid  to  tell  us."  And  he  re- 
turned the  deed  of  "decession"  to  the  lawyer. 


THE  VICAR  OF  TOURS 


"Where  am  I  to  put  all  my  furniture?"  cried  Birotteau, 
*'and  my  books,  my  beautiful  library,  my  nice  pictureri, 
my  red  drawing-room — all  my  things,  in  short 

And  the  poor  man's  despair  at  finding  himself  thus  up- 
rooted was  so  guileless,  it  so  perfectly  showed  the  purity  of 
his  life,  and  his  ignorance  of  the  world,  that  Madame  de 
Listomere  and  Mademoiselle  Salomon  said,  to  comfort  him, 
and  in  the  tone  that  mothers  use  when  they  promise  a  child 
a  plaything: 

"There,  there,  do  not  worry  yourself  about  such  silly 
trifles.  We  shall  easily  find  you  a  home  less  cold  and  gloomy 
than  Mademoiselle  Gamard's  house.  If  no  lodging  is  to  be 
found  to  suit  you — ^well,  one  of  us  will  take  you  as  a 
boarder.  Come,  play  a  hit  at  backgammon.  You  can  call  on 
the  Abbe  Troubert  to-morrow  to  ask  his  support,  and  you 
will  see  how  well  he  will  receive  you." 

Weak-minded  persons  are  reassured  as  easily  as  they  are 
frightened.  So  poor  Birotteau,  dazzled  by  the  prospect  of 
living  with  Madame  de  Listomere,  forgot  the  ruin,  now  ir- 
remediably complete,  of  the  happiness  he  had  so  long  sighed 
for,  and  so  thoroughly  reveled  in.  Still,  at  night,  before 
falling  asleep,  with  the  anguish  of  a  man  to  whom  a  re- 
moval, and  the  formation  of  new  habits,  were  as  the  end  of 
the  world,  he  tortured  his  mind  to  imagine  where  he  could 
find  as  convenient  a  home  for  his  library  as  that  corridor. 
As  he  pictured  his  books  astray,  his  furniture  dispersed,  and 
his  home  broken  up,  he  wondered  a  thousand  times  why 
his  first  year  at  Mademoiselle  Gamard's  had  been  so  delight- 
ful, and  the  second  so  wretched.  And  again  and  again  this 
disaster  was  a  bottomless  pit  in  which  his  mind  was  lost. 

The  canonry  no  longer  seemed  to  him  a  sufficient  com- 
pensation for  so  many  misfortunes;  he  compared  his  life  to 
a  stocking  in  which  one  dropped  stitch  leads  to  a  ladder  all 
the  way  down  the  web.  Mademoiselle  Salomon  was  left  to 
him.  But,  losing  all  his  old  illusions,  the  poor  priest  no 
longer  dared  believe  in  a  new  friend. 


872 


THE  VICAR  OP  TOURS 


In  the  citta  dolente  of  old  maids  there  are  several,  especially 
in  France,  whose  life  is  a  sacrifice  nobly  renewed  day  by  day 
to  noble  feeling.  Some  remain  proudly  faithful  to  a  heart 
which  death  untimely  snatched  from  them;  martyrs  to  love, 
they  learn  the  secret  of  womanliness  of  soul.  Others  suc- 
cumb to  a  family  pride  which,  to  our  shame,  is  daily  waxing 
less;  they  have  devoted  themselves  to  make  the  fortime  of 
a  brother,  or  to  the  care  of  orphan  nephews;  such  women 
are  mothers  though  remaining  maids.  These  old  maids  rise 
to  the  highest  heroism  of  their  sex,  by  consecrating  every 
womanly  feeling  to  the  worship  of  misfortune.  They  idealize 
the  concept  of  woman,  by  renouncing  all  the  rewards  of  her 
natural  destiny,  and  accepting  only  its  penalties.  They  live 
enshrined  in  the  beauty  of  their  self-sacrifice,  and  men 
reverently  bow  their  heads  before  their  faded  forms.  Made- 
moiselle de  Sombreuil  is  neither  wife  nor  maid;  she  was, 
and  always  will  be,  an  embodied  poem. 

Mademoiselle  Salomon  was  one  of  these  heroic  creaturefj. 
Her  sacrifice  was  religiously  sublime,  inasmuch  as  it  would 
remain  inglorious  after  having  been  a  daily  anguish.  Young 
and  handsome,  she  was  loved;  her  lover  lost  his  reason.  For 
five  years  she  had  devoted  herself  with  the  courage  of  love 
to  the  mechanical  joys  of  the  unhappy  man ;  she  was  so  fully 
wedded  to  his  madness  that  she  did  not  think  him  mad. 

She  was  a  woman  of  simple  manners,  frank  in  speech, 
with  a  pale  face  not  devoid  of  character,  though  the  features 
were  regular.  She  never  spoke  of  the  experiences  of  her  life. 
Only,  now  and  then,  the  sudden  shudder  with  which  she 
heard  the  narrative  of  some  dreadful  or  melancholy  incident 
betrayed  in  her  the  fine  qualities  evolved  by  great  sorrows. 
.She  had  come  to  live  at  Tours  after  the  death  of  her  com- 
panion in  life.  There  she  could  not  be  appreciated  at  her 
true  value;  she  was  regarded  as  a  "good  creature."  She  was 
very  charitable,  and  attached  herself  by  preference  to  the  weak 
and  helpless.  For  this  reason  she  had,  of  course,  the  deepest 
interest  in  the  unhappy  priest. 

Mademoiselle  Salomon  de  Villenoix,  driving  into  town 


THE  VICAR  OF  TOURS 


373 


early  next  morning,  took  Birotteau  with  her,  set  him  down 
on  the  Cathedral  quay,  and  left  him  making  his  way  towards 
the  Close,  where  he  was  in  great  haste  to  arrive,  to  save  the 
canonry,  at  any  rate,  from  the  shipwreck,  and  to  superin- 
tend the  removal  of  his  furniture.  He  rang,  not  without  vio- 
lent palpitations,  at  the  door  of  the  house,  whither  for  four- 
teen years  he  had  been  in  the  habit  of  coming,  in  which  he 
had  dwelt,  and  whence  he  was  now  to  be  for  ever  exiled  after 
dreaming  that  he  might  die  there  in  peace  like  his  friend 
Chapeloud. 

Marianne  was  surprised  to  see  him.  He  told  her  he  had 
come  to  speak  to  Monsieur  Troubert,  and  turned  towards  the 
ground-floor  rooms  in  which  the  Canon  lodged ;  but  Marianne 
called  out  to  him: 

"The  Abbe  Troubert  is  not  there^  Monsieur  le  Vicaire ;  he 
is  in  your  old  rooms." 

These  words  were  a  fearful  shock  to  Birotteau,  who  at  last 
understood  Troubert's  character,  and  the  unfathomable  depth 
of  revenge  so  slowly  worked  out,  when  he  saw  him  quite  at 
home  in  Chapeloud's  library,  seated  in  Chapeloud's  fine 
Gothic  chair — sleeping,  no  doubt,  in  Chapeloud's  bed,  using 
Chapeloud's  furniture,  contravening  Chapeloud's  will,  in 
short,  disinheriting  Chapeloud's  friend; — ^that  very  Chape- 
loud who  had  for  so  long  penned  him  in  at  Mademoiselle 
Gramard's,  hindered  his  advancement,  and  kept  him  out  of 
ihe  drawing-rooms  of  Tours.  By  what  magic  wand  had  this 
transformation  been  effected?  Were  these  things  no  longer 
Birotteau's? 

Indeed,  as  he  noted  the  sardonic  expression  with  which 
Troubert  looked  round  on  this  library,  Birotteau  inferred 
lhat  the  future  Vicar-General  was  secure  of  possessing  for 
Bver  the  plunder  of  the  two  men  he  had  so  bitterly  hated — 
Chapeloud  as  an  enemy,  and  Birotteau  because  in  him  he  still 
&aw  Chapeloud.  At  the  sight  a  thousand  ideas  surged  up 
in  the  worthy  man's  heart  and  wrapped  him  in  a  sort  of 
trance.  He  stood  motionless,  and,  as  it  were,  fascinated  by 
Iroubert's  eye,  which,  was  fixed  on  him. 


374 


THE  YICAR  OF  TOURS 


"I  cannot  suppose,  monsieur,"  said  Birotteau  at  last,  "that 
you  would  wish  to  deprive  me  of  the  things  that  are  mine. 
Though  Mademoiselle  Gamard  may  have  been  impatient  to 
move  you,  she  must  surely  be  just  enough  to  allow  me  time  to 
identify  my  books  and  remove  my  furniture." 

"Monsieur,"  said  the  Canon  coldly,  and  betraying  no  sort 
of  feeling  in  his  face,  "Mademoiselle  Gamard  told  me  yester- 
day that  you  were  leaving ;  of  the  cause  of  it  I  know  nothing. 
If  she  moved  me  up  here,  it  was  because  she  was  obliged  to  do 
so.  Monsieur  TAbbe  Poirel  has  taken  my  rooms.  Whether 
the  furniture  in  these  rooms  belongs  to  mademoiselle,  I  know 
not.  If  it  is  yours,  you  know  her  perfect  honesty;  the  saintli- 
ness  of  her  life  is  a  guarantee  for  it. 

"As  to  myself,  you  know  how  plainly  I  live.  For  fifteen 
years  I  slept  in  a  bare  room,  never  heeding  the  damp,  which 
is  killing  me  by  inches.  At  the  same  time,  if  you  wish  to 
return  to  these  rooms,  I  am  ready  to  give  them  up  to  you." 

As  he  listened  to  this  terrible  speech,  Birotteau  forgot  the 
matter  of  the  canonry;  he  went  downstairs  as  briskly  as  a 
young  man  to  find  Mademoiselle  Gamard,  and  met  her  at  the  ^ 
bottom  of  the  stairs  in  the  large  paved  passage  which  joined 
the  two  parts  of  the  house. 

"Mademoiselle,"  said  he,  bowing,  and  not  heeding  the 
sour,  sardonic  smile  that  curled  her  lips,  or  the  extraordinary 
fire  that  gave  her  eyes  a  glare  like  a  tiger's,  "I  cannot  un- 
derstand why  you  did  not  wait  till  I  had  removed  my  furni- 
ture before  -" 

"What?"  she  exclaimed,  interrupting  him,  "have  not  ali 
your  things  been  taken  to  Madame  de  Listomere's  ?" 

"But  my  furniture?" 

"Did  you  never  read  your  agreement  ?"  cried  she,  in  tone^ 
which  ought  to  be  expressed  in  musical  notation  to  shov 
now  many  shades  hatred  could  infuse  into  the  accentuation 
of  every  word. 

And  Mademoiselle  Gamard  seemed  to  swell,  her  eyes 
flashed  once  more,  and  her  face  beamed;  her  whole  person* 
thrilled  with  satisfaction. 


THE  VICAR  OP  TOURS 


The  Abbe  Troubert  opened  a  window  to  see  better  to  read 
a  folio  volume. 

Birottean  stood  as  if  thunderstricken. 

Mademoiselle  Gamard  trumpeted  at  him,  in  a  voice  as  shrill 
as  a  clarion,  the  following  words : — 

"Was  it  not  agreed  that,  in  the  event  of  your  leaving  my 
house,  yoar  furniture  was  to  become  mine  to  indemnify  me 
for  the  dilference  between  what  you  paid  me  for  your  boards 
and  what  I  received  from  the  late  respectable  Abbe  Chape- 
loud?  Now,  as  Monsieur  TAbbe  Poirel  has  been  made 
Canon  

At  these  last  words  Birotteau  bowed  slightly  as  if  to  take 
leave;  them  he  rushed  out  of  the  house.  He  was  afraid  lest, 
if  he  staid  any  longer,  he  should  faint,  and  so  give  his  re- 
Jentless  foes  a  too  great  triumph.  Walking  like  a  drunken 
man,  he  got  back  to  Madame  de  Listomere's  town  house, 
where,  in  a  lower  room,  he  found  his  linen,  clothes,  and 
papers  all  packed  into  a  trunk.  At  the  sight  of  those  relics 
of  his  property,  the  unhappy  priest  sat  down  and  hid  his  face 
in  his  hands  to  hide  his  tears  from  the  sight  of  men.  The 
Abbe  Poirel  was  Canon !  He,  Birotteau,  found  himself 
homeless,  bereft  of  fortune  and  furniture. 

Happily,  Mademoiselle  Salomon  happened  to  drive  past. 
The  doorkeeper,  understanding  the  poor  man's  despair,  sig- 
naled to  the  coachman.  After  a  few  words  of  explanation 
between  the  lady  and  the  porter,  the  Abbe  allowed  himself  to 
be  led  to  his  faithful  friend,  though  he  could  only  answer  her 
in  incoherent  words.  Mademoiselle  Salomon,  alarmed  by  the 
temporary  derangement  of  a  brain  already  so  feeble,  carried 
him  at  once  to  TAlouette,  ascribing  these  symptoms  of  mental 
disturbance  to  the  effect  naturally  produced  on  him  by  the 
Abbe  Poirel's  promotion.  She  knew  nothing  of  the  hapless 
Driest's  agreement  with  Mademoiselle  Gamard,  for  the  ex- 
cellent reason  that  he  himself  did  not  know  its  full  bearing. 
And  as  it  is  in  the  nature  of  things  that  comedy  is  often 
mixed  up  with  the  most  pathetic  incidents,  Birotteau's  be- 
wildered answers  almost  made  Mademoiselle  Salomon  laugh. 


m 


THE  VICAR  OP  TOURS 


*^Chapeloiid  was  right/''  said  he ;  'Tie  is  a  monster.** 
"Who  ?"  said  she. 

"Chapeloud.   He  has  robbed  me  of  everything." 
"Tlien  you  mean  Poirel?" 
"No,  Troubert.'' 

At  length  they  reached  I'Aloiiette,  where  the  priest's  friends 
lavished  on  him  such  effusive  kindness,  that  by  the  evening 
he  grew  calmer,  and  they  could  extract  from  him  an  account 
of  all  that  had  occurred  that  morning. 

Monsieur  de  Bourbonne,  always  phlegmatic,  naturally 
asked  to  see  the  agreement  which  ever  since  the  day  before 
had  seemed  to  him  to  contain  the  key  to  the  riddle.  Birot- 
teau  brought  the  fatal  document  out  of  his  pocket,  and  held 
it  out  to  the  landowner,  who  read  it  hastily,  presently  com- 
ing to  a  sentence  in  these  terms : — 

"Whereas  there  is  a  difference  of  eight  hundred  francs 
a  year  between  the  price  paid  by  the  late  Monsieur  Chapeloud 
and  the  sum  for  which  the  aforenamed  Sophie  Gamard 
agrees  to  lodge  and  board,  on  the  terms  hereinbefore  stated, 
the  said  Frangois  Birotteau;  whereas  the  said  Frangois  Birot- 
teau  fully  acknowledges  that  it  is  out  of  his  power  for  somi? 
years  to  come  to  pay  the  full  price  paid  by  Mademoiselle 
Gamard's  boarders,  and  more  especially  by  the  Abbe 
Troubert;  and,  finally,  whereas  the  said  Sophie  Gamard  has 
advanced  certain  sums  of  money,  the  said  Birotteau  hereby 
pledges  himself  to  bequeath  to  her,  as  an  indemnity,  the  fur- 
niture of  which  he  may  be  possessed  at  the  time  of  his  de- 
cease ;  or  in  the  event  of  his  voluntary  departing,  for  whatever 
cause  or  reason,  and  quitting  the  premises  at  present  let  to 
him,  and  no  longer  availing  himself  of  the  benefits  contracted 
for  in  the  agreement  made  by  Mademoiselle  Gamard  herein- 
before " 

"Heaven  above  us!  What  impudence P  exclaimed  Mon- 
sieur de  Bourbonne.  "And  what  claws  the  said  Sophie 
Gamard  has !" 

Poor  Birotteau,  never  conceiving  in  his  childish  brain  of 
any  cause  which  could  ever  separate  him  from  Mademoiselle 


THE  VICAR  OF  TOURS 


377 


Gamard,  had  counted  on  dying  under  her  roof.  He  had  not 
the  least  recollection  of  this  clause,  of  v/hich  the  terms  had 
not  even  been  discussed  at  the  time  when,  in  his  eagerness  to 
lodge  with  the  old  maid,  he  would  have  signed  all  the  docu- 
ments she  might  have  chosen  to  lay  before  him.  His  inno- 
cence was  so  creditable,  and  Mademoiselle  Gamard's  conduct 
so  atrocious;  there  was  something  so  deplorable  in  the  fate 
of  this  hapless  sexagenarian,  and  his  weakness  made  him 
so  pitiable,  that  in  a  first  impulse  of  indignation  Madame 
de  Listomere  exclaimed,  "I  am  the  cause  of  your  having 
signed  the  act  that  has  ruined  you ;  I  ought  to  make  up  to  you 
for  the  comfort  you  have  lost." 

"But,"  said  Monsieur  de  Bourbonne,  "such  proceedings 
constitute  a  fraud ;  there  are  grounds  for  an  action  " 

"Good,  Birotteau  shall  bring  an  action.  If  he  loses  it  at 
Tours,  he  will  win  it  at  Orleans ;  if  he  loses  it  at  Orleans,  he 
will  win  it  at  Paris !"  cried  the  Baron  de  Listomere. 

"If  he  means  to  bring  an  action,  I  should  advise  him  first 
to  resign  his  benefice  in  the  Cathedral,"  said  Monsieur  de 
Bourbonne  calmly. 

"We  will  take  legal  advice,"  replied  Madame  de  Listomere ; 
"and  we  will  bring  an  action  if  we  ought.  But  this  business 
is  so  disgraceful  for  Mademoiselle  Gamard,  and  may  prove 
so  damaging  to  the  Abbe  Troubert,  that  we  can  surely  effect 
a  compromise." 

After  mature  deliberation,  everybody  promised  to  assist 
the  Abbe  Birotteau  in  the  struggle  that  must  ensue  between 
him  and  the  allies  of  his  enemies.  A  confident  presentiment, 
an  indescribable  provincial  instinct  prompted  every  one  to 
combine  the  names  of  Troubert  and  Gamard.  But  not  a  soul 
of  those  then  assembled  at  Madame  de  Listomere's  excepting 
the  "old  fox,"  had  any  accurate  notion  of  the  importance  of 
such  a  conflict. 

Monsieur  de  Bourbonne  took  the  poor  priest  into  a  comer. 

"Of  all  the  fourteen  persons  present,"  said  he  in  a  low 
voice,  "not  one  will  be  still  on  3^our  side  within  a  fortnight. 
If  you  then  want  to  call  in  help,  you  will  perhaps  find  no  one 


878 


THE  YICAR  OF  TOURS 


but  myself  bold  enough  to  undertake  your  defence,  because 
I  know  the  country,  men,  and  things,  and,  better  still,  their 
interests.  All  your  friends  here,  though  full  of  good  inten- 
tions, are  starting  on  the  wrong  road,  which  you  can  never 
get  out  of.  Listen  to  my  advice.  If  you  want  to  live  in 
peace,  give  up  your  office  in  Saint-Gatien  and  leave  Tours. 
Tell  no  one  where  you  go,  but  seek  a  cure  of  souls  far  from 
hence,  where  Troubert  can  never  come  across  you." 

"Leave '  Tours  V  cried  the  Abbe,  with  unspeakable  dis- 
may. 

It  was  to  him  a  form  of  death.  Was  it  not  tearing  up  all 
the  roots  by  which  he  held  to  the  world?  Celibates  make 
habits  take  the  place  of  feelings.  And  when  to  this  system  of 
ideas,  by  which  they  go  through  life  rather  than  live,  they 
add  a  weak  nature,  external  things  have  an  astonishing  do- 
minion over  them.  Birotteau  had  really  become  a  sort  of 
vegetable ;  to  transplant  it  was  to  endanger  its  guileless  func- 
tions. Just  as  a  tree,  in  order  to  live,  must  always  find  the 
same  juices  at  hand,  and  always  send  its  filaments  into  the 
same  soil,  so  Birotteau  must  always  patter  round  Saint- 
Gatien,  always  trot  up  and  down  the  spot  on  the  Mall  where 
he  was  wont  to  walk,  always  go  through  the  same  familiar 
streets,  and  constantly  frequent  the  three  drawing-rooms 
where  evening  after  evening  he  played  whist  or  backgammon. 

"To  be  sure — I  was  not  thinking,"  replied  Monsieur  de 
Bourbonne,  looking  compassionately  at  the  priest. 

Before  long  all  Tours  knew  that  Madame  la  Baronne  de 
Listomere,  widow  of  a  Lieutenant-General,  had  given  a  home 
to  the  Abbe  Birotteau,  Vicaire  of  Saint-Gatien.  This  fact, 
on  which  several  persons  threw  doubts,  cut  short  all  ques- 
tions, and  gave  definiteness  to  party  divisions,  especially  when 
Mademoiselle  Salomon  was  the  first  to  dare  speak  of  fraud 
and  an  action  at  law. 

Mademoiselle  Gamard,  with  the  subtle  vanity  and  the 
fanatical  sense  of  personal  importance  that  are  character- 
istic of  old  maids,  considered  herself  greatly  aggrieved  by  the 


THE  VICAR  OP  TOURS 


379 


line  of  conclnct  taken  by  Madame  de  Listomere.  The  Baron- 
ess was  a  woman  of  high  rank,  elegant  in  her  habits, 
whose  good  taste,  polished  manners,  and  genuine  piety  were 
beyond  dispute.  By  sheltering  Birotteau  she  formally  gave 
the  lie  to  all  Mademoiselle  Gamard's  asseverations,  indirectly 
censured  her  conduct,  and  seemed  to  sanction  the  Abbe's 
complaints  of  his  former  landlady. 

For  the  better  comprehension  of  this  story,  it  is  necessary 
here  to  explain  how  much  power  Mademoiselle  Gamard  de- 
rived from  the  discernment  and  analytical  spirit  with  which 
old  women  can  account  to  themselves  for  the  actions  of 
others,  and  to  set  forth  the  resources  of  her  faction.  Escorted 
by  the  always  taciturn  Abbe  Troubert,  she  spent  her  even- 
ings in  four  or  five  houses  where  a  dozen  persons  were  wont 
to  meet,  allied  by  common  tastes  and  analogous  circum- 
i5tances.  There  were  two  or  three  old  men,  wedded  to  the 
Avhims  and  tittle-tattle  of  their  cooks;  five  or  six  old  maids, 
who  spent  their  days  in  sifting  the  words  and  scrutinizing 
1;he  proceedings  of  their  neighbors  and  those  a  little  below 
them  in  the  social  scale ;  and  finally,  several  old  women  wholly 
occupied  in  distilling  scandal,  in  keeping  an  exact  register 
i>f  everybody's  fortune,  and  a  check  on  everybody's  actions. 
They  foretold  marriages,  and  blamed  their  friends'  conduct 
quite  as  harshly  as  their  enemies'.  These  persons,  filling  in 
the  town  a  position  analogous  to  the  capillary  vessels  of  a 
plant,  imbibed  news  with  the  thirst  of  a  leaf  for  the  dew, 
picked  up  the  secrets  of  every  household,  discharged  them 
and  transmitted  them  mechanically  to  Monsieur  Troubert, 
as  leaves  communicate  to  the  plant  the  moisture  they  have 
absorbed.  Thus,  every  evening  of  the  week,  these  worthy 
bigots,  prompted  by  the  craving  for  excitement  which  ex- 
ists in  every  one,  struck  an  accurate  balance  of  the  position 
of  the  town  with  a  sagacity  worthy  of  the  Council  of  Ten, 
and  made  an  armed  police  out  of  the  unerring  espionage 
to  which  our  passions  give  rise.  Then,  as  soon  as  they  had 
found  the  secret  motive  of  any  event,  their  conceit  led  them 
to  appropriate,  severally,  the  wisdom  of  their  Sanhedrim,  and 


380 


THE  VICAR  OF  TOURS 


to  give  importance  to  their  gossip  in  their  respective  circles. 

This  idle  and  busybody  assembly,  invisible  though  om- 
niscient, speechless  but  for  ever  talking,  had  at  that  time  an 
influence  which  was  apparently  harmless  in  view  of  its  con- 
temptibility,  but  which  nevertheless  could  be  terrible  when 
it  was  animated  by  a  strong  motive.  Now  it  was  a  very  long 
time  since  any  event  had  occurred  within  range  of  their 
lives  to  compare  in  general  importance  to  each  and  all  with 
the  contest  between  Birotteau,  supported  by  Madame  de  Lis- 
tomere,  and  the  Abbe  Troubert  with  Mademoiselle  Gamard. 
In  fact,  the  three  drawing-rooms  of  Madame  de  Listomere, 
Mademoiselle  Merlin  de  la  Blottiere,  and  Mademoiselle  de 
Villenoix,  being  regarded  as  a  hostile  camp  by  those  where 
Mademoiselle  Gamard  visited,  there  lay  behind  this  quarrel  a 
strong  party  spirit  with  all  its  vanities.  It  was  the  struggle 
of  the  Eoman  Senate  and  people  in  a  molehill,  or  a  tempest 
in  a  glass  of  water,  as  Montesquieu  said  in  speaking  of  the 
Eepublic  of  San  Marino,  where  public  officials  held  their 
places  but  a  day,  so  easy  it  was  to  seize  despotic  power. 

But  this  storm  in  a  teacup  evolved  as  many  passions  in  the 
actors  as  would  have  sufficed  to  direct  the  largest  social  in^ 
terests.  Is  it  not  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  time  flies  swiftly 
only  to  those  whose  hearts  are  a  prey  to  such  vast  projects 
as  trouble  life  and  make  it  boil  ?  The  Abbe  Troubert's  hours 
were  spent  as  busily,  flew  loaded  with  thoughts  as  anxious, 
and  marked  by  despair  and  hopes  as  deep,  as  could  the  racking 
hours  of  the  man  of  ambition,  the  gamester,  or  the  lover. 
God  alone  knows  the  secret  of  the  energy  we  put  forth  to  win 
the  occult  triumphs  we  achieve  over  men,  or  things,  or  our- 
selves. Though  we  do  not  always  know  whither  we  are  go- 
ing, we  know  full  well  the  fatigues  of  the  voyage.  Still,  if 
the  historian  may  be  allowed  to  digress  from  the  drama  he  is 
narrating,  to  assume  for  a  moment  the  functions  of  the 
critic — if  he  may  invite  3^ou  to  glance  at  the  lives  of  these 
old  maids  and  of  these  two  priests,  to  investigate  the  causes 
of  the  misfortune  which  vitiated  their  inmost  core — ^you  wil\ 
perhaps  find  it  proved  to  a  demonstration  that  man  must 


THE  VICAR  OF  TOURS 


381 


necessarily  experience  certain  passions  if  he  is  to  evolve  those 
qualities  which  give  nobleness  to  life,  vi^hich  expand  its  limits 
and  silence  the  selfishness  natural  to  all  beings. 

Madame  de  Listomere  returned  to  town,  not  knowing  that 
for  five  or  six  days  past  several  of  her  friends  had  been 
obliged  to  dispute  a  rumor  concerning  herself,  and  accepted 
by  some,  though  she  would  have  laughed  at  it  had  she  heard 
of  it,  which  attributed  her  affection  for  her  nephew  to  almost 
criminal  causes. 

She  took  the  Abbe  to  see  her  lawyer,  who  did  not  think 
an  action  an  easy  matter.  The  Abbe's  friends,  confident 
in  the  feeling  that  comes  of  the  justice  of  a  good  case,  or 
else  dilatory  about  proceedings  which  did  not  concern  them 
personalty,  had  postponed  the  preliminary  inquiry  till  the 
day  when  they  should  return  to  Tours.  Thus  Mademoiselle 
Gamard's  allies  had  been  able  to  make  the  first  move,  and 
had  told  the  story  in  a  way  unfavorable  to  the  Abbe  Birot- 
teau.  Hence  the  man  of  law,  whose  clients  consisted  ex- 
clusively of  the  pious  folks  of  the  town,  very  much  astonished 
Madame  de  Listomere  by  urging  her  on  no  account  to  be 
mixed  up  in  such  proceedings;  and  he  closed  the  interview 
by  saying  that  ^Tie,  at  any  rate,  would  not  undertake  the 
case,  because,  by  the  terms  of  the  agreement.  Mademoiselle 
Gamard  was  right  in  the  eye  of  the  law;  that  in  equity,  that 
is  to  say,  out  of  the  jurisdiction  of  the  Court,,  Monsieur 
Birotteau  would  appear  in  the  eyes  of  the  Bench  and  of  all 
honest  folks  to  have  fallen  away  from  the  meek,  peace-loving, 
and  conciliatory  character  he  had  hitherto  enjoyed;  that 
Mademoiselle  Gamard,  regarded  as  a  gentle  person  and  easy 
to  live  with,  had  accommodated  Birotteau  by  lending  the 
money  needed  to  pay  the  succession  duties  arising  from 
Chapeloud's  bequest,  without  demanding  any  receipt;  that 
Birotteau  was  not  of  an  age,  nor  of  a  nature,  to  sign  a  docu- 
ment without  knowing  what  it  contained  and  recognizing  its 
importance;  and  that  as  he  had  ceased  to  live  at  Made- 
moiselle Gamard's  after  only  two  ^'■ears'  residence,  whereas 
his  friend  Chapeloud  had  been  with  her  for  twelve  years, 


382 


THE  VICAR  OF  TOURS 


and  Troubert  for  fifteen^  it  could  only  be  in  accordance  with 
some  plan  best  known  to  himself.  That,  consequently,  the 
action  would  be  generally  considered  as  an  act  of  ingrati- 
tude," etc. 

After  seeing  Birotteau  to  the  head  of  the  stairs,  the  lawyer 
detained  Madame  de  Listomere  a  moment  as  he  showed  her 
out,  and  besought  her,  as  she  loved  her  peace  of  mind,  to 
have  nothing  to  do  with  the  affair. 

In  the  evening,  however,  the  hapless  Abbe,  as  miserable 
as  a  criminal  in  the  condemned  cell  at  Bicetre  while  await- 
ing the  result  of  his  petition  to  the  court  of  appeal,  could 
not  keep  himself  from  telling  his  friends  of  the  result  of 
his  visit  to  the  lawyer,  at  the  hour  before  the  card-parties 
were  made  up,  when  the  little  circle  were  assembling  round 
Madame  de  Listomere's  fire. 

"I  know  no  lawyer  in  Tours,  excepting  the  solicitor  for 
the  Liberal  party,  who  would  undertake  the  case,  unless  he 
meant  to  lose  it,"  exclaimed  Monsieur  de  Bourbonne,  "and 
I  do  not  advise  you  to  embark  on  it." 

"Well,  it  is  a  rascally  shame !"  said  the  navy  lieutenant. 
"I  myself  will  take  the  Abbe  to  see  that  lawyer !" 

"Then  go  after  dark,"  said  Monsieur  de  Bourbonne,  inter- 
rupting him. 

"Why?" 

"I  have  just  heard  that  the  Abbe  Troubert  is  appointed 
Vicar- General  in  the  place  of  him  who  died  the  day  before 
yesterday." 

"Much  I  care  for  the  Abbe  Troubert !" 

Unluckily,  the  Baron  de  Listomere,  a  man  of  six-and- 
thirty,  did  not  see  the  sign  made  to  him  by  Monsieur  de 
Bourbonne  warning  him  to  weigh  his  words,  and  pointing 
significantly  at  a  town  councillor  who  was  known  to  be  a 
friend  of  Troubert's.    So  the  officer  went  on : 

"If  Monsieur  Troubert  is  a  rogue    .    .  ." 

"Dear  me,"  said  Monsieur  de  Bourbonne,  "why  bring  the 
Abbe  Troubert's  name  into  a  matter  with  which  he  has  no 
concern  whatever?" 


THE  VICAR  OP  TOURS 


383 


"Nay,"  said  the  lieutenant,  "is  he  not  in  the  enjoyment 
of  the  Abbe  Birotteau's  furniture?  I  remember  having  called 
on  Monsieur  Chapeloud  and  seeing  two  valuable  pictures. 
Suppose  they  are  worth  ten  thousand  francs  ?  Can  you  believe 
that  Monsieur  Birotteau  ever  intended  to  give,  in  return  for 
two  years'  board  with  this  Gamard  woman,  ten  thousand 
francs,  when  the  library  and  furniture  are  worth  almost  as 
much  more?" 

The  Abbe  opened  his  eyes  very  wide  on  hearing  that  he 
had  ever  owned  such  an  enormous  fortune.  And  the  Baron 
went  on  vehemently  to  the  end. 

"By  Jove !  Monsieur  Salmon,  an  expert  from  the  Paris 
gallery,  happens  to  be  here  on  a  visit  to  his  mother-in-law. 
I  will  go  to  him  this  very  evening  with  Monsieur  FAbbe,  and 
beg  him  to  value  the  pictures.  From  thence  I  will  take  him 
to  that  lawyer." 

Two  days  after  this  conversation  the  action  had  taken 
ishape.  The  solicitor  to  the  Liberal  party,  now  Birotteau's 
attorney,  cast  some  obloquy  on  the  Abbe's  case.  The  Opposi- 
tion to  the  Government,  and  some  persons  known  to  love 
neither  priests  nor  religion — two  things  which  many  people 
fail  to  distinguish — took  up  the  matter,  and  the  whole  town 
was  talking  of  it.  The  expert  from  Paris  had  valued  the 
Virgin  by  le  Valentin,  and  the  Christ  by  Lebrun,  at  eleven 
thousand  francs ;  they  were  both  choice  examples.  As  to  the 
bookcase  and  the  Gothic  furniture,  the  fashionable  taste, 
daily  growing  in  Paris,  for  that  style  of  work  gave  them  an 
immediate  value  of  twelve  thousand  francs.  •  In  short,  the 
expert,  on  examination,  estimated  the  contents  of  the  rooms 
at  ten  thousand  crowns. 

ISTow,  it  was  obvious  that  as  Birotteau  had  never  intended 
to  give  Mademoiselle  Gamard  this  immense  sum  in  payment 
of  the  little  money  he  might  owe  her  in  virtue  of  the  stipu- 
lated indemnity,  there  were  grounds,  legally  speaking,  for 
a  new  contract,  otherwise  the  old  maid  would  be  guilty  of  un- 
intentional fraud.   So  the  lawyer  on  Birotteau's  behalf  began 


384 


THE  VICAR  OF  TOURS 


by  serving  a  writ  on  Mademoiselle  Gamard,  formulating  the 
Abbe's  case.  This  statement,  though  exceedingly  severe, 
and  supported  by  quotations  from  leading  judgments,  and 
confirmed  by  certain  articles  of  the  Code,  was  at  the  same 
time  a  masterpiece  of  legal  logic,  and  so  evidently  condemned 
the  old  maid,  that  thirty  or  forty  copies  were  maliciously 
circulated  in  the  town  by  the  opposite  party. 

A  few  days  after  this  commencement  of  hostilities  be- 
tween the  old  maid  and  Birotteau,  the  Baron  de  Listomere, 
who,  as  commander  of  a  corvette,  hoped  to  be  included  in  the 
next  list  of  promotions,  which  had  been  expected  for  some 
time  at  the  Navy  Board,  received  a  letter,  in  which  a  friend 
informed  him  that  there  was,  on  the  contrary,  some  idea  in 
the  office  of  placing  him  on  the  Retired  List.  Greatly  amazed 
by  this  news,  he  at  once  set  out  for  Paris,  and  appeared  at 
the  Minister's  next  reception.  This  official  himself  seemed 
no  less  surprised,  and  even  laughed  at  the  fears  expressed  by 
the  Baron  de  Listomere. 

Next  day,  in  spite  of  the  Minister's  words,  the  Baron  in- 
quired at  the  office.  With  an  indiscretion,  such  as  is  not  un- 
frequently  committed  by  heads  of  departments  for  their 
friends,  a  secretary  showed  him  a  minute  confirming  the 
fatal  news,  ready  drawn  up,  but  which  had  not  yet  been  sub- 
mitted to  the  Minister,  in  consequence  of  the  illness  of  a  head- 
clerk.  The  Baron  at  once  went  to  call  on  an  uncle,  who, 
being  a  depute,  could  without  delay  meet  the  Minister  at 
the  Chamber,  and  begged  him  to  sound  His  Excellency  as 
to  his  views,  since  to  him  this  meant  the  sacrifice  of  his 
whole  career.  He  awaited  the  closing  of  the  sitting  in  his 
uncle's  carriage  in  the  greatest  anxiety. 

Long  before  the  end  his  uncle  came  out,  and  as  they  drove 
home  to  his  house  he  asked  the  Baron : — 

"What  the  devil  led  you  to  make  war  against  the  priest- 
hood ?  The  Minister  told  me  at  once  that  you  had  put  your-1 
self  at  the  head  of  the  Liberal  party  at  Tours.  Your  opin- 
ions are  detestable,  you  do  not  follow  the  line  laid  down  by 
the  Government,  and  what  not!    His  phrases  were  as  con- 


THE  VICAR  OF  TOURS 


385 


fused  as  if  he  were  still  addressing  the  Chamber.  So  then 
I  said  to  him,  ^Come,  let  us  understand  each  other.'  And 
His  Excellency  ended  by  confessing  that  you  were  in  a 
scrape  with  the  Lord  High  Almoner.  In  short,  by  making 
some  inquiries  among  my  colleagues,  I  learned  that  you  had 
spoken  with  much  levity  of  a  certain  Abbe  Troubert,  who, 
though  but  a  Vicar-General,  is  the  most  important  person- 
age of  the  province,  where  he  represents  the  ecclesiastical 
power.  I  answered  for  you  to  the  Minister  in  person. — 
My  noble  nephew,  if  you  want  to  get  on  in  the  world,  make 
no  enemies  in  the  Church. 

"Now,  go  back  to  Tours,  and  make  your  peace  with  this 
devil  of  a  Vicar-General.  Remember  that  Vicars-General 
are  men  with  whom  you  must  always  live  in  peace.  Deuce 
take  it !  When  we  are  all  trying  to  re-establish  the  Church, 
to  cast  discredit  on  the  priests  is  a  blunder  in  a  ship's  lieuten- 
ant who  wants  his  promotion.  If  you  do  not  make  it  up  with 
this  Abbe  Troubert,  you  need  not  look  to  me;  I  shall  cast 
you  off.  The  Minister  for  Church  Affairs  spoke  to  me  of  the 
man  just  now  as  certain  to  be  a  Bishop.  If  Troubert  took 
an  aversion  for  our  family,  he  might  hinder  my  name  from 
appearing  in  the  next  batch  of  peers. — Do  you  understand  ?" 

This  speech  explained  to  the  navy  lieutenant  what  Trou- 
bert's  secret  occupations  were,  when  Birotteau  so  stupidly 
remarked,  "I  cannot  think  what  good  he  gains  by  sitting  up 
all  night !" 

The  Canon's  position,  in  the  midst  of  the  feminine  sen- 
ate which  so  craftily  kept  a  surveillance  over  the  province, 
as  well  as  his  personal  capabilities,  had  led  to  his  being 
chosen  bj  the  Church  authorities  from  among  all  the  priests 
in  the  town  to  be  the  unacknowledged  proconsul  of  Touraine. 
Archbishop,  General,  Prefet — high  and  low  were  under  his 
occult  dominion. 

The  Baron  de  Listomere  had  soon  made  up  his  mind. 

"I  have  no  notion,"  said  he  to  his  uncle,  "of  receiving  an- 
other ecclesiastical  broadside  below  the  water-line." 

Three  days  after  this  diplomatic  interview  between  the 


386 


THE  VICAR  OP  TOURS 


uncle  and  nephew,  the  sailor,  who  had  suddenly  returned 
to  Tours  by  the  mail-coach,  explained  to  his  aunt,  the  very 
evening  of  his  arrival,  all  the  danger  that  would  be  incurred 
by  the  Listomere  family  if  they  persisted  in  defending  that 
idiot  Birotteau.  The  Baron  had  caught  Monsieur  de  Bour- 
bonne  at  the  moment  when  the  old  gentleman  was  taking 
up  his  stick  and  hat  to  leave  after  his  rubber.  The  "old 
fox's"  intelligence  was  indispensable  to  throw  a  light  on  the 
reefs  among  which  the  Listomeres  had  been  entangled;  he 
rose  so  early  to  seek  his  hat  and  stick,  only  to  be  stopped  by 
a  word  in  his  ear : 

"Wait,  we  want  to  talk." 

The  young  Baron's  prompt  return,  and  his  air  of  satisfac- 
tion, though  contrasting  with  the  gravity  his  face  assumed 
now  and  then,  had  vaguely  hinted  to  Monsieur  de  Bourbonne 
of  some  checks  the  lieutenant  might  have  received  in  his 
cruise  against  Gamard  and  Troubert.  He  manifested  no  sur- 
prise on  hearing  the  Baron  proclaim  the  secret  power  pos- 
sessed by  the  Vicar-General. 

"I  knew  that,"  said  he. 

"Well,  then,'^  exclaimed  the  Baroness,  "why  did  you  not 
warn  us?" 

"Madame,"  he  hastily  replied,  "if  you  will  forget  that  I 
guessed  this  priest's  occult  influence,  I  will  forget  that  you 
know  it  as  well  as  I.  If  we  should  fail  to  keep  the  secret, 
we  might  be  taken  for  his  accomplices;  we  should  be  feared 
and  hated.  Do  as  I  do.  Pretend  to  be  a  dupe ;  but  look  care- 
fully where  you  set  your  feet.  I  said  quite  enough;  you  did 
not  understand  me.   I  could  not  compromise  myself." 

"What  must  we  do  now?"  said  the  Baron. 

The  desertion  of  Birotteau  was  not  a  matter  of  question; 
it  was  the  primary  condition,  and  so  understood  by  this  coun- 
cil of  three. 

"To  effect  a  retreat  with  all  the  honors  of  war  has  always 
been  the  greatest  achievement  of  the  most  skilful  generals,'' 
said  Monsieur  de  Bourbonne.  "Yield  to  Troubert;  if  his 
hatred  is  less  than  his  vanity,  you  will  gain  an  ally:  but  if 


THE  VICAR  OF  TOURS 


387 


you  yield  too  much,  he  will  trample  on  your  body,  for,  a? 
Boileau  says,  ^Destruction  is  by  choice  the  spirit  of  the 
Church.'  Make  as  though  you  were  quitting  the  service, 
and  you  will  escape  him.  Monsieur  le  Baron.  Dismiss  Birot- 
teau,  madame,  and  you  will  gain  Gamard  her  lawsuit.  When 
you  meet  the  Abbe  Troubert  at  the  Archbishop's,  ask  him  if 
he  plays  whist;  he  will  answer  Yes.  Invite  him  to  play  a 
rubber  in  this  drawing-room,  where  he  longs  to  be  admitted ; 
he  will  certainly  come.  You  are  a  woman;  try  to  enlist  this 
priest  in  your  interest.  When  the  Baron  is  a  ship's  Captain, 
his  uncle  a  Peer  of  France,  and  Troubert  a  Bishop,  you  can 
make  Birotteau  a  Canon  at  your  leisure.  Till  then  yield; 
but  yield  gracefully,  and  with  a  threat.  Your  family  can 
give  Troubert  quite  as  much  assistance  as  he  can  give  you; 
you  will  meet  half-way  to  admiration.  And  take  soundings 
constantly  as  you  go,  sailor !" 

"Poor  Birotteau !"  said  the  Baronne. 

^'Oh!  begin  at  once,"  said  the  old  man  as  he  took  leave. 
"If  some  clever  Liberal  should  get  hold  of  that  vacuous  brain, 
he  would  get  you  into  trouble.  After  all,  the  law  would  pro- 
nounce in  his  favor,  and  Troubert  must  be  afraid  of  the 
verdict.  As  yet  he  may  forgive  you  for  having  begun  the 
action,  but  after  a  defeat  he  would  be  implacable. — I  have 
spoken." 

He  snapped  his  snuff-box  lid,  went  to  put  on  his  thick 
shoes,  and  departed. 

The  next  morning,  after  breakfast,  the  Baroness  remained 
alone  with  Birotteau,  and  said  to  him,  not  without  visible 
embarrassment  :- 

"My  dear  Monsieur  Birotteau,  I  am  going  to  make  a  re- 
quest that  you  will  think  very  unjust  and  inconsistent;  but 
both  for  your  sake  and  for  ours  you  must,  in  the  first  place, 
put  an  end  to  your  action  against  Mademoiselle  G-amard  by 
renouncing  your  claims,  and  also  quit  my  house." 

As  he  heard  these  words  the  poor  priest  turned  pale. 

"I  am  the  innocent  cause  of  your  misfortunes,"  she  went 
on;  "and  I  know  that  but  for  my  nephew  you  would  never 
-26 


388 


THE  VICAR  OF  TOURS 


have  begun  the  proceedings  which  now  are  working  woe  for 
you  and  for  us.   Listen  to  me/* 

And  she  briefly  set  forth  the  immense  scope  of  this  af- 
fair, explaining  the  seriousness  of  its  consequences.  Her 
meditations  during  the  night  had  enabled  her  to  form  an  idea 
of  what  the  Abbe  Troubert's  former  life  had  been.  Tlv'Vi 
she  could  unerringly  point  out  to  Birotteau  the  web  in  which 
he  had  been  involved  by  this  skilfully-plotted  vengeance, 
could  show  him  the  superior  cleverness  and  power  of  the 
enemy,  revealing  his  hatred  and  explaining  its  causes;  she 
pictured  him  as  crouching  for  twelve  years  to  Chapeloud, 
and  now  devouring  and  persecuting  Chapeloud  in  the  person 
of  his  friend. 

The  guileless  Birotteau  clasped  his  hands  as  if  to  pray, 
and  wept  with  grief  at  this  vision  of  human  wickedness  which 
his  innocent  soul  had  never  conceived  of.  Terrified,  as 
though  he  were  standing  on  the  verge  of  an  abyss,  he  lis- 
tened to  his  benefactress  with  moist  and  staring  eyes,  but 
without  expressing  a  single  idea.    She  said  in  conclusion: 

"I  know  how  vile  it  is  to  desert  you;  but,  my  dear  Abbe, 
family  duties  must  supersede  those  of  friendship.  Bend 
before  this  storm,  as  I  must,  and  I  will  prove  my  gratitude. 
1  say  nothing  of  3^our  personal  concerns ;  I  undertake  them ; 
_70u  shall  be  released  from  money  difficulties  for  the  rest  of 
your  life.  By  the  intervention  of  Monsieur  de  Bourbonne, 
who  will  know  how  to  save  appearances,  I  will  see  that  you 
lack  nothing.  My  friend,  give  me  the  right  to  throw  you 
over.  I  shall  remain  your  friend  while  conforming  to  the 
requirements  of  the  world. — Decide." 

The  hapless  Abbe,  quite  bewildered,  exclaimed: 

''Ah!  then  Chapeloud  was  right  when  he  said  that  if 
Troubert  could  drag  him  out  of  his  grave  by  the  heels,  he 
Would  do  it! — He  sleeps  in  Chapeloud's  bed!" 

"It  is  no  time  for  lamentations,"  said  Madame  de  Lis- 
tomere.    "We  have  no  time  to  spare.    Come  " 

Birotteau  was  too  kind-hearted  not  to  submit  in  any  great 
crisis  to  the  impulsive  self-sacrifice  of  the  first  moment.  But, 


THE  VICAR  OP  TOURS 


389 


in  any  case,  his  life  already  was  but  one  long  martyrdom. 
He  answered  with  a  heartbroken  look  at  his  protectress, 
which  wrung  her  soul : 

"I  am  in  your  hands.  I  am  no  more  than  a  straw  in  the 
street !" 

The  local  word  he  used,  hourrier,  is  peculiar  to  Touraine, 
and  its  only  liberal  rendering  is  a  straw.  But  there  are 
pretty  little  straws,  yellow,  shiny,  and  smart,  the  delight  of 
children;  while  a  howrier'  is  a  dirty,  colorless,  miry  straw, 
left  in  the  gutter,  driven  by  the  wind,  crushed  by  the  foot 
of  every  passer-by. 

"But,  madame,"  he  went  on,  "I  should  not  wish  to  leave 
the  portrait  of  Chapeloud  for  the  Abbe  Troubert.  It  was 
done  for  me,  and  belongs  to  me;  get  that  back  for  me,  and 
I  will  give  up  everything  else." 

"Well,''  said  Madame  de  Listomere,  "I  will  go  to  Made- 
moiselle Gamard.''  She  spoke  in  a  tone  which  showed  what 
an  extraordinary  effort  the  Baronne  de  Listomere  was  mak- 
ing in  stooping  to  flatter  the  old  maid's  conceit.  "And  I 
will  try  to  settle  everything,"  she  went  on.  "I  hardly  dare 
hope  it.- — Go  and  see  Monsieur  de  Bourbonne.  Get  him  to 
draw  up  your  act  of  renunciation  in  due  form,  and  bring  it 
to  me  signed  and  witnessed.  With  the  help  of  the  Arch- 
bishop, I  may  perhaps  get  the  thing  settled." 

Birotteau  went  away  overpowered.  Troubert  had  assumed 
in  his  eyes  the  proportions  of  an  Egyptian  pyramid.  The 
man's  hands  were  in  Paris,  and  his  elbows  in  the  Close  of 
Saint-Gatien. 

"He,"  said  he  to  himself,  "to  hinder  Monsieur  le  Marquis 
de  Listomere  being  made  a  peer  of  France! — And  then, 
'With  the  help  of  the  Archbishop,  perhaps  get  the  thing 
settled !' " 

In  comparison  with  such  high  interests,  Birotteau  felt 
himself  a  grasshopper ;  he  was  honest  to  himself. 

The  news  of  Birotteau's  removal  was  all  the  more  as- 
tounding because  the  reason  was  un discoverable.  Madame  de 
Listomere  gave  out  that  as  her  nephew  wished  to  marry  and 


390 


THE  VICAR  OP  TOURS 


retire  from  the  service,  she  needed  the  Abbe's  room  to  add 
to  her  own.  No  one  as  yet  had  heard  that  Birotteau  had 
withdrawn  the  action.  Monsieur  de  Bourbonne's  instruc- 
tions were  thus  judiciously  carried  out. 

These  two  pieces  of  news,  when  they  should  reach  the  ears 
of  the  Vicar-General,  must  certainly  flatter  his  vanity,  by 
showing  him  that,  though  the  Listomere  family  would 
not  capitulate,  it  would  at  least  remain  neutral,  tacitly 
recognizing  the  secret  power  of  the  Church  Council;  and  was 
not  recognition  submission?  Still,  the  action  remained  suh 
judice.   Was  not  this  to  yield  and  to  threaten? 

Thus  the  Listomeres  had  assumed  an  attitude  precisely 
similar  to  that  of  the  Abbe  Troubert  in  this  contest;  they 
stood  aside,  and  could  direct  their  forces. 

But  a  serious  event  now  occurred,  and  added  to  their  diffi- 
culties, hindering  the  success  of  the  means  by  which  Mon- 
sieur de  Bourbonne  and  the  Listomeres  hoped  to  mollify  the 
Gamard  and  Troubert  faction.  On  the  previous  day  Made- 
moiselle Gamard  had  taken  a  chill  on  coming  out  of  the  Ca- 
thedral, had  gone  to  bed,  and  was  reported  to  be  seriously 
ill.  The  whole  town  rang  with  lamentations,  excited  by  spu- 
rious commiseration.  "Mademoiselle  Gamard's  highly-strung 
sensibilities  had  succumbed  to  the  scandal  of  this  lawsuit. 
Though  she  was  undoubtedly  in  the  right,  she  was  dying  of 
grief.  Birotteau  had  killed  his  benefactress."  This  was  the 
sum  and  substance  of  the  phrases  fired  off  through  the  capil- 
lary ducts  of  the  great  feminine  synod,  and  readily  repeated 
by  the  town  of  Tours. 

Madame  de  Listomere  suffered  the  humiliation  of  call- 
ing on  the  old  woman  without  gaining  anything  by  her  visit. 
She  very  politely  requested  to  be  allowed  to  speak  to  the 
Vicar-General.  Flattered,  perhaps,  at  receiving  a  woman 
who  had  slighted  him,  in  Chapeloud's  library,  by  the  fire- 
place over  which  the  two  famous  pictures  in  dispute  were 
hanging,  Troubert  kept  th^  Baroness  waiting  a  minute,  then 
he  consented  to  see  her 


THE  VICAR  OF  TOURS 


391 


No  courtier,  no  diplomate,  ever  threw  into  the  discussion 
of  private  interests  or  national  negotiations  greater  skill,  dis- 
simulation, and  depth  of  purpose  than  the  Baroness  and  the 
Abbe  displayed  when  they  found  themselves  face  to  face. 

Old  Bourbonne,  like  the  sponsor,  in  the  Middle  Ages,  who 
armed  the  champion,  and  fortified  his  courage  by  good  coun- 
sel as  he  entered  the  lists,  had  instructed  the  Baroness: 

"Do  not  forget  your  part;  you  are  a  peacemaker,  and  not 
an  interested  party.  Troubert  likewise  is  a  mediator.  Weigh 
your  words.  Study  the  tones  of  the  Vicar-General's  voice. — 
If  he  strokes  his  chin,  you  have  won  him." 

Some  caricaturists  have  amused  themselves  by  represent- 
ing the  contrast  that  so  frequently  exists  between  what  we 
say  and  what  we  think.  In  this  place,  to  represent  fully  the 
interesting  points  of  the  duel  of  words  that  took  place  be- 
tween the  priest  and  the  fine  lady,  it  is  necessary  to  disclose 
the  thoughts  they  each  kept  concealed  under  apparently 
trivial  speech. 

Madame  de  Listomere  began  by  expressing  the  regret  she 
felt  about  this  lawsuit  of  Birotteau's,  and  she  went  on  to 
speak  of  her  desire  of  seeing  the  affair  settled  to  the  satisfac- 
tion of  both  parties. 

"The  mischief  is  done,  madame,"  said  the  Abbe.  "The 
admirable  Mademoiselle  Gamard  is  dying."  (''I  care  no  more 
for  that  stupid  creature  than  for  Prester  John/'  thought 
he,  ''hut  I  should  like  to  lay  her  death  at  your  door,  and 
burden  your  conscience,  if  you  are  silly  enough  to  care.") 

"On  hearing  of  her  illness,"  said  the  Baroness,  "I  desired 
the  Abbe  to  sign  a  withdrawal,  which  I  have  brought  to  that 
saintly  person."  {''I  see  through  you,"  thought  she,  ''you 
old  rascal;  hut  ive  are  no  longer  at  the  mercy  of  your  va- 
garies. As  for  you,  if  you  accept  the  deed,  you  will  have  put 
your  foot  in  it;  it  will  he  a  confession  of  complicity.") 

There  was  a  brief  silence. 

"Mademoiselle  Gamard's  temporal  affairs  are  no  concern 
of  mine,"  said  the  priest  at  length,  closing  the  deep  lids  over 
his  eagle  eyes  to  conceal  his  excitement.    {"Ah,  ha,  you  will 


392 


THE  VICAR  OF  TOURS 


not  catch  me  tripping!  But  God  he  praised,  those  cursed 
lawyers  will  not  fight  out  a  case  that  might  bespatter  me! 
But  what  on  earth  can  the  Listomeres  want,  that  they  are 
so  humble  f) 

"Monsieur/'  replied  the  Baronne,  "the  concerns  of  Mon- 
sieur FAbbe  Birotteau  interest  me  no  more  than  those  of 
Mademoiselle  Gamard  do  you.  But,  unluckily,  religion  might 
suffer  from  their  quarrels,  and  in  you  T  see  but  a  mediator, 
while  I  myself  come  forward  as  a  peacemaker  .  . 
C'TFe  can  neither  of  us  throw  dust  in  the  other's  eyes.  Mon- 
sieur Troubert/'  thought  she.  ^^Do  you  appreciate  the  epi- 
gram in  that  reply 

"Religion!  madame,"  said  the  Vicar-General.  "Religion 
stands  too  high  for  man  to  touch  it."  (''Religion  means  me'* 
thought  he.)  "God  will  judge  us  unerringly,  madame,"  he 
added,  "and  I  recognize  no  other  tribunal." 

"Well,  then,  monsieur,"  replied  she,  "let  us  try  to  make 
man's  judgments  agree  with  God's."  C'Yes,  Religion 
means  you.") 

The  Abbe  Troubert  changed  his  tone. 

"Has  not  Monsieur  your  nephew  just  been  to  Paris?" 
{''You  heard  of  me  there,  I  fancy,"  thought  he;  "I  can  crush 
you — you  who  scorned  me!  You  have  come  to  surrender.") 

"Yes,  monsieur,  thank  you  for  taking  so  much  interest  in 
him.  He  is  returning  to  Paris  to-night,  ordered  there  by 
the  Minister,  who  is  kindness  itself  to  us,  and  does  not  wish 
him  to  retire  from  the  service."  {''No,  Jesuit,  you  will  not 
crush  us,"  thought  she;  "we  understand  your  little  game.") 
A  pause.  "I  have  not  approved  of  his  conduct  in  this  affair,'' 
she  went  on,  "but  a  sailor  may  be  forgiven  for  not  under- 
standing the  law."  {"Come,  let  us  be  allies,"  thought  she; 
"we  shall  gain  nothing  by  squabbling.") 

A  faint  smile  dawned,  and  was  lost,  in  the  furrows  of  the 
Abbe's  face. 

"He  has  done  us  some  service  by  informing  us  of  the  value 
of  those  two  pictures,"  said  he,  looking  at  them;  "they  will 
be  a  worthy  ornament  to  the  Lady  Chapel,"    {"You  fired 


THE  VICaR  of  tours 


39;} 


an  epigram  at  me,  madame"  thought  he;  "there  are  two  for 
you,  and  we  are  quits.") 

"If  you  present  them  to  Saint-Gatien,  I  would  beg  you 
to  allow  me  to  offer  to  the  Church  two  frames  worthy  of  the 
place  and  of  the  giiV  {''I  should  like  to  make  you  confess 
that  you  coveted  Birotteaus  property,"  thought  she.) 

"They  do  not  belong  to  me/'  said  the  priest,  well  on  his 
guard. 

"Well,  here  is  the  deed  that  puts  an  end  to  all  dispute/' 
said  Madame  de  Listomere,  "and  restores  them  to  Made- 
moiselle Gamard."  She  laid  the  document  on  the  table. 
{''You  see,  monsieur,  how  much  I  trust  you,"  thought  she.) 
"It  is  worthy  of  you,  monsieur,  worthy  of  your  fine  character, 
to  reconcile  two  Christians,  though  I  have  ceased  to  take 
much  interest  in  Monsieur  Birotteau.'' 

"But  he  is  your  pensioner,"  said  he,  interrupting  her. 

"No,  monsieur,  he  is  no  longer  under  my  roof.''  {''My 
hrother-in-law' s  peerage  and  my  nephew's  promotion  are 
leading  me  into  very  mean  actions,"  thought  she.) 

The  Abbe  remained  unmoved,  but  his  calm  aspect  was 
a  symptom  of  violent  agitation.  Only  Monsieur  d©  Bour- 
bonne  had  divined  the  secret  of  that  superficial  calm.  The 
priest  was  triumphant. 

"Why,  then,  did  you  take  charge  of  his  act  of  renuncia- 
tion?" he  asked,  moved  by  a  feeling  similar  to  that  which 
makes  a  woman  fish  for  compliments. 

"I  could  not  help  feeling  some  pity  for  him.  Birotteau, 
whose  feeble  character  must  be  well  known  to  you,  entreated 
me  to  see  Mademoiselle  Gamard  in  order  to  obtain  from  her, 

as  the  price  of  the  surrender  of  ,"  the  Abbe  frowned — • 

"of  his  rights,  as  recognized  by  many  distinguished  lawyers, 
the  portrait — "  the  priest  looked  hard  at  Madame  de  Listo- 
mere — "of  Chapeloud,"  she  said.  "I  leave  it  to  you  to  Judge 
of  his  claim  to  it  .  .  ."  {"You  would  lose  if  you  fought 
the  case,"  thought  she.) 

The  tone  in  which  the  Baroness  uttered  the  words  "dis- 
tinguished lawyers,"  showed  the  priest  that  she  knew  the 


394 


THE  VICAR  OP  TOURS 


enemy's  strength  and  weakness.  Madame  de  Listomere  dis- 
played so  much  skill  to  this  experienced  connoisseur,  that 
at  the  end  of  this  conversation,  which  was  carried  on  for 
some  time  in  the  same  ke}^,  he  went  down  to  see  Made- 
moiselle Gamard  to  bring  her  answer  as  to  the  proposed  bar- 
gain. 

Troubert  soon  returned. 

"Madame/'  said  he,  "I  can  but  repeat  the  poor  dying 
woman's  words.  ^Monsieur  I'Abbe  Chapeloud  showed  me  too 
much  kindness,'  said  she,  ^for  me  to  part  from  his  portrait.' — 
As  for  myself,  if  it  were  mine,  I  would  not  give  it  up  to  any 
one.  I  was  too  faithfully  attached  to  my  poor  dead  friend 
not  to  feel  that  I  have  a  right  to  claim  his  likeness  against 
anybody  in  the  world." 

"Well,  monsieur,  do  not  let  us  fall  out  over  a  bad  picture." 
C*"/  care  for  it  more  than  you  do''  thought  she.")  "Keep 
it ;  we  will  have  it  copied.  I  am  proud  to  have  brought  this 
sad  and  deplorable  lawsuit  to  an  end,  and  I  have  personally 
gained  the  pleasure  of  making  your  acquaintance. — I  have 
heard  that  you  are  a  fine  whist  player.  You  will  forgive  a 
woman  for  being  curious,"  she  added  with  a  smile.  "If  you 
will  come  and  play  occasionally  at  my  house,  you  cannot 
doubt  that  you  will  be  heartily  welcomed." 

The  Abbe  Troubert  stroked  his  chin.  {^'He  is  caught; 
Bourlonne  was  right,"  thought  she,  "he  has  his  share  of 
vanity/') 

In  fact,  the  Vicar-General  was  at  this  moment  enjoying 
the  delicious  sensation  which  Mirabeau  found  irresistible 
when,  in  the  day  of  his  power,  he  saw  the  gates  of  some 
mansion  which  had  formerly  been  closed  against  him,  opened 
to  admit  his  carriage. 

"Madame,"  replied  he,  "my  occupations  are  too  important 
to  allow  of  my  going  into  society;  but  for  you  what  would 
not  a  man  do?"  {''It  is  all  over  with  the  old  girl;  I  will 
make  up  to  the  Listomeres,  and  do  them  a  good  turn  if  they 
do  me  one,"  thought  he.  ''It  is  better  to  have  them  for  friends 
than  for  enemies") 


THE  VICAR  OF  TOURS 


395 


Madame  de  Listomere  went  home,  hoping  that  the  Arch- 
bishop would  complete  a  pacification  so  happily  begun.  But 
Birotteau  was  to  gain  nothing  even  by  his  renunciation. 
Madame  de  Listomere  heard  next  day  that  Mademoiselle 
Gamard  was  dead.  The  old  maid's  will  being  opened,  no  one 
was  surprised  to  learn  that  she  had  constituted  the  Abbe 
Troubert  her  universal  legatee.  Her  property  was  estimated 
at  a  hundred  thousand  crowns.  The  Vicar-General  sent  two 
invitations  to  the  service  and  burial  to  Madame  de  Listomere's 
house — one  for  herself,  and  the  other  for  her  nephew. 

"We  must  go,"  said  she. 

"That  is  Just  what  it  means  V  exclaimed  Monsieur  de  Bour- 
bonne.  "It  is  a  test  by  which  Monseigneur  Troubert  meant 
to  try  you.  Baron,  you  must  go  all  the  way  to  the  grave," 
he  added  to  the  navy  lieutenant,  who,  for  his  sins,  had  not 
yet  left  Tours. 

The  service  was  held,  and  was  marked  by  ecclesiastical 
magnificence.  One  person  only  shed  tears.  That  was  Birot- 
teau, who,  alone  in  a  side  chapel  where  he  was  not  seen,  be- 
lieved himself  guilty  of  this  death,  and  prayed  fervently 
for  the  soul  of  the  departed,  bitterly  bewailing  himself  be- 
cause he  had  not  obtained  her  forgiveness  for  having  wronged 
her. 

The  Abbe  Troubert  followed  his  friend's  body  to  the  grave 
in  which  she  was  to  be  laid.  Standing  on  its  brink,  he 
delivered  an  address,  and,  thanks  to  his  eloquence,  gave  monu- 
mental dignity  to  his  picture  of  the  narrow  life  led  by  the 
testatrix.  The  bystanders  noted  these  words  in  the  perora- 
tion: 

"This  life,  full  of  days  devoted  to  God  and  to  Eeligion — 
this  life,  adorned  by  so  many  beautiful  actions  performed 
in  silence,  so  many  modest  and  unrecognized  virtues,  was 
iblighted  by  a  sorrow  which  we  would  call  unmerited  if,  here, 
on  the  verge  of  eternity,  we  could  forget  that  all  our  afflictions 
are  sent  us  by  God.  This  holy  woman's  many  friends,  knowing 
how  noble  was  her  guileless  soul,  foresaw  that  she  could  en- 
dure anything  excepting  only  such  detraction  as  would  affect 


396 


THE  VICAR  OF  TOURS 


her  whole  existence.  And  so  perhaps  Providence  has  taken 
her  to  rest  in  God  only  to  rescue  her  from  our  petty  griefs. 
Happy  are  they  who  here  on  earth  can  live  at  peace  with 
themselves,  as  Sophie  now  reposes  in  the  realms  of  the  blest, 
in  her  robe  of  innocence !" 

"And  when  he  had  ended  this  grandiloquent  discourse," 
said  Monsieur  de  Bourbonne,  who  reported  all  the  details 
of  the  funeral  to  Madame  de  Listomere  that  evening  when, 
the  rubbers  ended  and  the  doors  closed,  they  were  left  alonei^ 
with  the  Baron,  "imagine,  if  you  can,  that  Louis  XI.  in  a 
priest's  gown  giving  the  holy-water  sprinkler  a  final  flourish 
in  this  style" — and  Monsieur  de  Bourbonne  took  up  the  tongs 
and  imitated  the  Abbe  Troubert's  movement  so  exactly  that 
the  Baron  and  his  aunt  could  not  help  smiling.  "In  this 
alone,"  added  the  old  man,  "did  he  betray  himself.  Till  then 
his  reserve  had  been  perfect;  but  now,  M^hen  he  had  packed 
away  for  ever  the  old  maid  he  so  utterly  despised  and  hated, 
almost  as  much  perhaps  as  he  had  detested  Chapeloud,  he, 
no  doubt,  found  it  impossible  to  hinder  his  satisfaction  from 
betraying  itself  in  a  gesture." 

Next  morning  Mademoiselle  Salomon  came  to  breakfast 
with  Madame  de  Listomere,  and  as  soon  as  she  came  in  she 
said  quite  sadly : 

"Our  poor  Abbe  Birotteau  has  just  been  dealt  a  dreadful 
blow  which  reveals  the  most  elaborately  studied  hatred.  He 
is  made  Cur^  of  Saint-Symphorien." 

Saint-Symphorien  is  a  suburb  of  Tours  lying  beyond  the 
bridge.  This  bridge,  one  of  the  finest  works  of  French  archi- 
tecture, is  nearly  two  thousand  feet  long,  and  the  open 
squares  at  each  end  are  exactly  alike. 

"Do  you  understand?"  she  added  after  a  pause,  amazed 
at  the  coolness  with  which  Madame  de  Listomere  heard  this 
news.  "The  Abbe  Birotteau  will  there  be  a  hundred  leagues 
from  Tours,  from  his  friends,  from  everything.  Is  it  not 
exile,  and  all  the  more  terrible  because  he  will  be  torn  from 
the  town  that  his  eyes  will  behold  every  day,  while  he  can 
hardly  ever  come  to  it?    He  who,  since  his  troubles,  has 


THE  VICAR  OF  TOURS 


397 


hardly  been  able  to  walk,  will  be  obliged  to  come  a  league  to 
see  us.  At  the  present  moment  the  poor  man  is  in  bed  with 
a  feverish  attack.  The  priest's  residence  at  Saint-Symphorien 
is  cold  and  damp,  and  the  parish  is  too  poor  to  restore  it.  The 
poor  old  man  will  be  buried  alive  in  a  real  tomb.  What  a 
villainous  plot 

It  will  now,  perhaps,  suffice  in  conclusion  of  this  story  to 
report  briefly  a  few  subsequent  events,  and  to  sketch  a  last 
picture. 

Five  months  later  the  Vicar-General  was  a  bishop ;  Madame 
de  Listomere  was  dead,  leaving  fifteen  hundred  francs  a 
year  to  the  Abbe  Birotteau.  On  the  day  when  the  Baroness' 
will  was  read,  Monseigneur  Hyacinthe,  Bishop  of  Troyes, 
was  about  to  leave  Tours  and  take  up  his  residence  in  his 
diocese;  but  he  postponed  his  departure.  Furious  at  having 
been  deceived  by  a  woman  to  whom  he  had  offered  a  hand, 
while  she  was  secretly  holding  out  hers  to  the  man  whom, 
he  chose  to  regard  as  an  enemy,  Troubert  again  threatened 
to  mar  the  Baron's  career  and  hinder  the  Marquis  de  Listo  - 
mere from  receiving  his  peerage.  In  full  council,  at  thi) 
Archbishop's  palace,  he  uttered  one  of  those  priestly  speeches^ 
big  with  revenge,  though  smooth  with  honeyed  mildness. 

The  ambitious  lieutenant  came  to  see  this  ruthless  prelate, 
who  dictated  hard  terms  no  doubt,  for  the  Baron's  conduct 
showed  absolute  subservience  to  the  terrible  Jesuit's  will. 

The  new  Bishop,  by  a  deed  of  gift,  bestowed  Mademoiselle 
Gamard's  house  on  the  Cathedral  Chapter;  he  gave  Chape- 
loud's  bookcase  and  books  to  the  little  Seminary;  he  dedi- 
cated the  two  disputed  pictures  to  the  Lady  Chapel;  but  he 
kept  the  portrait  of  Chapeloud.  No  one  could  understand 
this  almost  complete  surrender  of  all  Mademoiselle  Gamard's 
property.  Monsieur  de  Bourbonne  imagined  that  he  secretly 
kept  all  the  actual  money  to  enable  him  to  maintain  his  rank 
in  Paris,  if  he  should  be  called  to  sit  on  the  Bench  of  Bishops 
in  the  Upper  Chamber. 

At  last,  on  the  very  day  before  Monseigneur  Troubert  left 
Tours,  the  "old  fox"  detected  the  last  nlot  which  these  gifts 


398 


THE  VICAR  OF  TOURS 


had  covered,  a  coup  de  grace  dealt  by  the  most  relentless 
vengeance  to  the  most  helpless  of  victims.  The  Baron  de 
Listomere  disputed  Madame  de  Listomere's  bequest  to  Birot- 
teau  on  the  ground  of  undue  influence !  Within  a  few  days 
of  the  first  steps  being  taken  in  this  action,  the  Baron  was 
appointed  to  a  ship  with  the  rank  of  captain;  the  Cure  of 
Saint-Symphorien  was,  by  an  act  of  discipline,  placed  under 
an  interdict.  His  ecclesiastical  superiors  condemned  him 
by  anticipation;  so  the  assassin  of  the  late  Sophie  Gamard 
was  a  rogue  as  well !  Now,  if  Monseigneur  Troubert  had  kept 
the  old  maid's  property,  he  could  hardly  have  secured  Birot- 
teau's  disgrace. 

At  the  moment  when  Monseigneur  Hyacinthe,  Bishop  of 
'T^royes,  was  passing  in  a  post-chaise,  along  the  quay  of  Saint- 
Symphorien,  on  his  way  to  Paris,  poor  Birotteau  had  just 
been  brought  out  in  an  armchair  to  sit  in  the  sun  on  a  terrace. 
The  unhappy  priest,  stricken  by  his  archbishop,  was  pale  and 
liaggard.  Grief,  stamped  on  every  feature,  had  completely 
altered  the  face,  which  of  old  had  been  so  blandly  cheerful 
111  health  had  cast  a  dimness  that  simulated  thought  over  his 
eyes,  which  had  been  bright  once  with  the  pleasures  of  good 
living,  and  devoid  of  any  weight  of  ideas.  This  was  but 
the  skeleton  of  that  Birotteau  who,  only  a  year  ago,  vacuous 
but  happy,  had  waddled  across  the  Close.  The  Bishop  shot 
a  glance  of  contempt  and  pity  at  his  victim;  then  he  vouch- 
safed to  forget  him,  and  passed  on. 

In  other  times  Troubert  would  certainly  have  been  a  Hilde- 
brand  or  an  Alexander  VI.  Nowadays  the  Church  is  no 
longer  a  political  force,  and  does  not  absorb  all  the  powers 
of  isolated  men.  Hence  celibacy  has  this  crying  evil,  that  by 
concentrating  the  powers  of  a  man  on  one  single  passion, 
namely,  egoism,  it  makes  the  unwedded  soul  mischievous  or 
useless. 

We  live  in  a  time  when  the  fault  of  most  governments  is 
that  they  make  man  for  society  rather  than  society  for  man. 
A  perpetual  struggle  is  going  on  between  the  individual  and 
the  system  that  tries  to  turn  him  to  account,  while  he  tries 
to  turn  it  to  account  for  his  own  advantage;  formerly,  man 


THE  VICAR  OF  TOURS 


399 


having  really  more  liberty,  showed  greater  generosity  for 
the  public  weal.  The  circle  in  which  men  move  has  insensibly 
widened;  the  soul  that  can  apprehend  it  synthetically  will 
never  be  anything  but  a  grand  exception,  since,  constantly, 
in  moral  as  in  physical  force,  what  is  gained  in  extent  is  lost 
in  intensity.    Society  cannot  be  based  on  exceptions. 

Originally,  man  was  simply  and  solely  a  father;  his  heart 
beat  warmly,  concentrated  within  the  radius  of  the  family. 
Later  on  he  lived  for  the  Clan  or  for  a  small  Eepublic ;  hence 
the  grand  historical  heroism  of  Greece  and  Rome.  Next,  he 
became  the  member  of  a  caste,  or  of  a  religion,  and  often  was 
truly  sublime  in  his  devotion  to  its  greatness;  but  then  the 
field  of  his  interests  was  increased  by  the  addition  of  every 
intellectual  realm.  In  these  days  his  life  is  bound  up  with 
that  of  a  vast  fatherland;  ere  long  his  family  will  be  the 
whole  human  race. 

Will  not  this  moral  cosmopolitanism,  the  thing  the  Roman 
Church  hopes  for,  be  a  sublime  mistake?  It  is  so  natural  to 
believe  in  that  noble  chimera — the  brotherhood  of  men.  But, 
alas!  the  human  machine  has  not  such  godlike  proportions. 
The  souls  that  are  vast  enough  to  wed  a  sentiment  that  is 
the  prerogative  of  a  great  man  will  never  be  those  of  plain 
citizens,  of  fathers  of  families. 

Certain  physiologists  opine  that  if  the  brain  expands,  the 
heart  must  necessarily  shrink.  That  is  a  mistake.  Is  not 
what  looks  like  egoism  in  the  men  who  bear  in  their  breast 
a  science,  a  nation,  or  its  laws,  the  noblest  of  passions?  Is 
it  not,  in  a  way,  a  motherhood  of  the  people  ?  To  bring  forth 
new  races  or  new  ideas,  must  they  not  combine  in  their  power- 
ful brain  the  breast  of  the  mother  with  the  force  of  God? 
The  history  of  an  Innocent  III.,  of  a  Peter  the  Great,  of  all 
who  have  guided  an  epoch  or  a  nation,  would  at  need  prove 
to  be,  in  the  highest  order  of  minds,  the  immense  idea  repre- 
sented by  Troubert  in  the  depths  of  the  Close  of  Saint- 
Gatien. 


Saint-Firmin,  April  1832, 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 

AND 

HONORINE 


INTRODUCTION 


The  second  volume — the  third  part — of  Les  Celihataires 
takes  very  high  rank  among  its  companions.  As  in  most  of 
his  best  books^  Balzac  has  set  at  work  divers  favorite  springs 
of  action,  and  has  introduced  personages  of  whom  he  has 
elsewhere  given,  not  exactly  replicas — he  never  did  that — 
but  companion  portraits.  And  he  has  once  more  justified 
the  proceeding  amply.  Whether  he  has  not  also  justified  the 
reproach,  such  as  it  is,  of  those  who  say  thjat  to  see  the  most 
congenial  expression  of  his  fullest  genius,  you  must  go  to 
his  bad  characters  and  not  to  his  good,  readers  shall  deter- 
mine for  themselves  after  reading  the  book. 

It  was  the  product  of  the  year  1842,  when  the  author  was 
at  the  ripest  of  his  powers,  and  after  which^  with  the  excep- 
tion of  Les  Parents  Pauvres,  he  produced  not  much  of  his 
very  best  save  in  continuations  and  rehandlings  of  earlier  ef- 
forts. He  changed  his  title  a  good  deal,  and  in  that  MS.  cor- 
rection of  a  copy  of  the  Comedie  which  has  been  taken,  per- 
haps without  absolutely  decisive  authority,  as  the  basis  of  the 
Edition  Definitive,  he  adopted  La  Rabouilleuse  as  his  latest 
favorite.  This,  besides  its  quaintness,  has  undoubted  merit 
as  fixing  the  attention  on  one  at  least  of  the  chief  figures 
of  the  book,  while  Un  Menage  de  gargon  only  obliquely  in- 
dicates the  real  purport  of  the  novel.  Jean- Jacques  Rouget 
is  a  most  unfortunate  creature,  who  anticipates  Baron  Hulot 
as  an  example  of  absolute  dependence  on  things  of  the  flesh, 
plus  a  kind  of  cretinism,  which  Hulot,  to  do  him  justice, 

(ix) 

VOL.  4—27 


X 


INTRODUCTION 


does  not  exhibit  even  in  his  worst  degradation.  But  his 
"bachelor  establishment/'  though  undoubtedly  useful  for  the 
purposes  of  the  story,  might  have  been  changed  for  something 
else,  and  his  personality  have  been  considerably  altered,  with- 
out very  much  affecting  the  general  drift  of  the  fiction. 

Flore  Brazier,  on  the  other  hand,  the  Rahouilleuse  herself, 
is  essential,  and  with  Maxence  Grilet  and  Philippe  Bridau 
forms  the  centre  of  the  action  and  the  passion  of  the  book. 
She  ranks,  indeed,  with  those  few  feminine  types,  Valerie 
Marneffe,  La  Cousine  Bette,  Eugenie  Grandet,  Beatrix, 
Madame  de  Maufrigneuse,  and  perhaps  Esther  Gobseck, 
whom  Balzac  has  tried  to  draw  at  full  length.  It  is  to  be 
observed  that  though  quite  without  morals  of  any  kind,  she 
is  not  ah  initio  or  intrinsically  a  she-fiend  like  Valerie  or 
Lisbeth.  She  does  not  do  harm  for  harm's  sake,  nor  even 
directly  to  gratify  spite,  greed,  or  other  purely  unsocial  and 
detestable  passions.  She  is  a  type  of  feminine  sensuality  of 
the  less  ambitious  and  restless  sort.  Given  a  decent  educa- 
tion, a  fair  fortune,  a  good-looking  and  vigorous  husband  to 
whom  she  had  taken  a  fancy,  and  no  special  temptation,  and 
she  might  have  been  a  blameless,  merry,  "sonsy"  commcre, 
and  have  died  in  an  odor  of  very  reasonable  sanctity.  Poverty, 
ignorance,  the  Kougets  (father  and  son),  Maxence  Gilet,  and 
Philippe  Bridau  came  in  her  way,  and  she  lived  and  died  as 
Balzac  has  shown  her.  He  has  done  nothing  more  "in- 
evitable;'^ a  few  things  more  complete  and  satisfactory. 

Maxence  Gilet  is  a  not  much  less  remarkable  sketch,  though 
it  is  not  easy  to  say  that  he  is  on  the  same  level.  Gilet  is  the 
man  of  distinct  gifts,  of  some  virtues,  or  caricatures  of  vir- 
tues, who  goes  to  the  devil  through  idleness,  fulness  of  bread, 
and  lack  of  any  worthy  occupation.  He  is  extraordinarily 
unconventional  for  a  French  figure  in  fiction,  even  for  a 


INTRODUCTION 


xl 


figure  drawn  by  such  a  French  genius  as  Balzac.  But  he 
is  also  hardly  to  be  called  a  great  type,  and  I  do  not  quite 
see  why  he  should  have  succumbed  before  Philippe  as  he  did. 

Philippe  himself  is  more  complicated,  and,  perhaps,  more 
questionable.  He  is  certainly  one  of  Balzac's  -jieurs  du  mal; 
he  is  studied  and  personally  conducted  from  beginning  to 
end  with  an  extraordinary  and  loving  care;  but  is  he  quite 
"of  a  piece"?  That  he  should  have  succeeded  in  defeating 
the  combination  against  which  his  virtuous  mother  and 
brother  failed  is  not  an  undue  instance  of  the  irony  of  life. 
The  defeat  of  such  adversaries  as  Flore  and  Max  has,  of 
course,  the  merit  of  poetical  justice  and  the  interest  of  "dia- 
mond cut  diamond."  But  is  not  the  terrible  Philippe  Bridau, 
the  "Mephistopheles  d  clieval"  of  the  latter  part  of  the  book, 
rather  inconsistent  with  the  common-place  ne'er-do-weel  of 
the  earlier?  Not  only  does  it  require  no  unusual  genius  to 
waste  money,  when  you  have  it,  in  the  channels  of  the  drink- 
ing-shop,  the  gaming-table,  and  elsewhere,  to  sponge  for  more 
on  your  mother  and  brother,  to  embezzle  when  they  are 
squeezed  dry,  and  to  take  to  downright  robbery  when  nothing 
else  is  left;  but  a  person  who,  in  the  various  circumstances 
and  opportunities  of  Bridau,  finds  nothing  better  to  do  than 
these  ordinary  things,  can  hardly  be  a  person  of  exceptional 
intellectual  resource.  There  is  here  surely  that  sudden  and 
unaccounted-for  change  of  character  which  the  second-rate 
novelist  and  dramatists  may  permit  himself,  but  from  which 
the  first-rate  should  abstain. 

This,  however,  may  be  an  academic  objection,  and  cer- 
tainly the  book  is  of  first-class  interest.  The  minor  charac- 
ters, the  mother  and  brother,  the  luckless  aunt  with  her  com- 
bination at  last  turning  up  when  the  rascal  Philippe  has 
stolen  her  stake-money,  the  satellites  and  abettors  of  Max  in 


xii 


INTRODUCTION 


the  club  of  "La  Desoeuvrance,"  the  slightly  theatrical 
Spaniard,  and  all  the  rest  of  them,  are  excellent.  The  book 
is  an  eminently  characteristic  one — more  so,  indeed,  than 
more  than  one  of  those  in  which  people  are  often  invited  to 
make  acquaintance  with  Balzac. 

The  third  story  of  Les  Celibataires  has  a  rather  more  varied 
bibliographical  history  than  the  others.  The  first  part,  that 
dealing  with  the  early  misconduct  of  Philippe  Bridau,  was 
published  separately,  as  Les  Deux  Freres,  in  the  Presse  during 
the  spring  of  1841,  and  a  year  or  so  later  in  volumes.  It  had 
nine  chapters  with  headings.  The  volume  form  also  included 
under  the  same  title  the  second  part,  which,  as  Un  Menage 
de  gargon  en  Province,  had  been  published  in  the  same  news- 
paper in  the  autumn  of  1842.  This  had  sixteen  chapters  in 
both  issues,  and  in  the  volumes  two  part-headings — one 
identical  with  the  newspaper  title,  and  the  other  "A  qui  la 
Succession  ?"  The  whole  book  then  took  rank  in  the  Comedie 
under  the  second  title,  Un  Menage  de  gargon,  and  retained 
this  during  Balzac's  life  and  long  afterwards.  In  the  Edition 
Definitive,  as  observed  above,  he  had  marked  it  as  La  Ra- 
houilleuse,  after  having  also  thought  of  Le  Bonhomme 
Rouget.  For  English  use,  the  better  known,  though  not  last 
or  best  title,  is  clearly  preferable,  as  it  can  be  translated,  while 
La  Rahouilleuse  cannot. 


The  other  story  included  by  the  publishers  in  this  volume 
is  of  equally  high  merit.  It  heads  a  group  of  stories  in 
Scenes  de  la  Vie  Privee  (cf.  Index)  which  contains  some  of 
the  author^s  very  best  work;  indeed,  it  contains  very  little 
that  is  much  below  his  best.  Honorine  presents  some  of  Bal- 
zac's profoundest  observations,  better  stated  than  is  usual, 


INTRODUCTION 


xlll 


or  at  least  invariable,  with  him.  The  best  of  all  are  certain 
axioms,  disputed  rather  than  disputable,  as  to  the  difference 
between  men's  and  women's  love.  The  book  suffers  to  some 
extent  from  that  artistic  fault  of  the  recitation^  rather  than 
the  story  proper,  to  which  he  was  so  prone,  and  perhaps  a 
little  from  the  other  proneness — so  constantly  to  be  noted 
in  any  complete  critique  of  him — to  exaggerate  and  idealize 
good  as  well  as  ill.  But  it  is — as  his  abomination,  Sainte- 
Beuve,  said  of  another  matter — an  essai  noble;  and  it  is  not — ■ 
as  Sainte-Beuve  also  said  of  that  matter  which  had  nothing 
to  do  with  Balzac — an  essai  pale. 

Honorine  was  rather  a  late  book.  It  appeared  in  La  Presses 
in  the  spring  of  1843  with  a  motto  from  Madeinoiselle  de. 
Maupin  and  in  six  headless  chapters.  A  year  later  it  was? 
published  in  two  volumes  by  Potter,  with  forty  headed  chap- 
ters or  sections.  In  1845  it  took  rank  in  the  Scenes  de  lo. 
Vie  Privee  of  the  Comedie.  It  was  then  accompanied  by  Le 
Colonel  Chalert,  La  Messe  de  I'Athee,  and  U Inter  diction, 
though  they  do  not  accompany  it  in  the  Edition  Definitive. 

G.  S. 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


,  To  Mo7isieur  Charles  Nodier, 

'  Member  of  the  French  Academy, 

Chief  Librarian  at  the  Arsenal. 

Here,  my  dear  Nodier,  you  have  a  book  full  of  those  incidents 
which  escape  the  action  of  the  law  under  the  shelter  of  domestic 
privacy;  but  in  which  the  finger  of  God,  so  often  called  Chance, 
takes  the  place  of  human  justice,  while  the  moral  is  not  the  less 
striking  and  instructive  for  being  uttered  by  a  satirist.  The  out- 
come, to  my  mind,  is  a  great  lesson  for  the  Family,  and  for 
Motherhood.  We  shall  perhaps  discover  too  late  the  effects  of 
diminished  paternal  power.  That  authority,  which  formerly 
ceased  only  on  the  father's  death,  constituted  the  one  human 
tribunal  at  which  domestic  crimes  could  be  tried,  and  on  great 
occasions  the  Sovereign  would  ratify  and  carry  out  its  decisions. 
However  tender  and  kind  the  mother  may  be,  she  can  no  more 
supply  that  patriarchal  rule  than  a  woman  can  fill  a  man's  place 
on  the  throne;  when  the  exception  occurs,  the  creature  is  a 
monster. 

I  have  never,  perhaps,  drawn  a  picture  which  shows  more 
clearly  than  this  how  indispensable  the  stability  of  marriage  is 
to  European  Society,  what  the  sorrows  are  of  woman's  weak- 
ness, what  dangers  are  involved  in  unbridled  self-interest.  It  is 
to  be  hoped  that  a  society  based  solely  on  the  power  of  money 
may  tremble  when  it  sees  the  impotence  of  Justice  over  the  com- 
plications of  a  sj^stem  which  deifies  success  and  condones  every 
means  to  achieve  it:   That  it  may  have  prompt  recourse  to  the 


2 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


Catholic  Church  for  purification  of  the  masses  by  religious  feel- 
ing,  and  by  some  education  other  than  that  of  a  lay  University! 
Enough  fine  characters,  enough  instances  of  great  and  noble 
devotion  will  have  been  seen  in  my  Scenes  of  Military  Life;  so  1 
may  be  allowed  here  to  show  what  depravity  results  from  the 
exigencies  of  war  in  certain  minds  which  dare  to  act  in  private 
life  as  they  would  on  the  field  of  battle. 

You  have  studied  our  times  with  a  sagacious  eye,  and  your 
philosophy  betrays  itself  by  more  than  one  bitter  reflection  in  the 
course  of  your  elegant  pages;  you,  better  than  any  one,  have 
appreciated  the  mischief  done  to  the  spirit  of  our  nation  by  four 
different  political  systems.  > 

I  could  not,  therefore,  place  this  narrative  under  the  protection 
of  a  more  competent  authority.  Your  name,  perhaps,  may 
defend  this  work  against  the  outcry  it  is  sure  to  raise.  Where  is 
there  a  sufferer  who  keeps  silence  when  the  surgeon  uncovers 
his  most  burning  wounds?  The  pleasure  of  dedicating  this  drama 
to  you  is  enhanced  by  my  pride  in  betraying  your  goodwill  for 
him  who  here  signs  himself  one  of  your  sincere  admirers, 

De  Balzac. 

In  1792  the  citizens  of  Issoudun  rejoiced  in  a  doctor  named 
Rouget,  who  was  regarded  as  a  very  deep  fox.  Some  bold 
folks  asserted  that  he  made  his  wife  very  unhappy,  though 
she  was  the  handsomest  woman  in  the  town.  Perhaps  this 
wife  was  rather  a  simpleton.  In  spite  of  the  inquisitiveness 
of  friends,  the  gossip  of  outsiders,  and  the  evil-speaking  of 
the  envious,  the  circumstances  of  the  household  were  little 
known.  Doctor  RcJuget  was  one  of  the  men  of  whom  it  is 
commonly  said  that  they  are  not  easy  to  get  on  with."  And 
so,  as  long  as  he  lived,  little  was  said  about  him,  and  he  was 
treated  civilly. 

His  wife,  a  Demoiselle  Descoings,  somewhat  sickly  as  a 
girl — one  reason,  it  was  said,  why  the  doctor  married  her — 
had  first  a  son,  and  then  a  dauditer^  born  as  it  happened  ten 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


3 


years  after  her  brother,  and  not  expected  by  the  doctor,  it  was 
always  reported,  though  he  was  a  medical  man.  This  late- 
born  daughter  was  named  Agathe. 

These  facts  are  so  simple  and  commonplace  that  the  histo- 
rian hardly  seems  justified  in  placing  them  in  the  forefront 
of  his  narrative;  but  if  they  remained  unknown,  a  man  of 
Doctor  Rouget's  temper  would  be  condemned  as  a  monster, 
as  an  unnatural  father,  whereas  he  simply  obeyed  certain 
evil  promptings  which  many  persons  defend  under  the  terrible 
axiom:  A  man  must  know  his  own  mind.  This  masculine 
motto  has  wrought  misery  for  many  wives.  The  Descoings, 
the  doctor's  father  and  mother-in-law,  wool-brokers,  under- 
took alike  the  sale  for  landowners,  or  the  purchase  for  wool- 
merchants  of  the  golden  fleeces  of  le  Berry,  and  took  com- 
mission from  both  parties.  They  grew  rich  over  this  busi- 
ness, and  then  avaricious — the  moral  of  many  lives. 

Their  son,  Descoings  junior,  a  younger  brother  of  Madame 
Eouget's,  did  not  like  Issoudun.  He  went  to  seek  his  fortune 
in  Paris,  and  set  up  as  a  grocer  in  the  Rue  Saint-Honore. 
This  was  his  ruin.  But  what  is  to  be  said  ?  A  grocer  is  at- 
tracted to  his  business  by  a  magnetic  force  as  great  as  the  re- 
pulsion which  renders  it  odious  to  artists.  The  social  forces 
which  make  for  this  or  that  vocation  have  been  insufficiently 
studied.  It  would  be  curious  to  know  what  leads  a  man  tc 
become  a  stationer  rather  than  a  baker,  when  he  is  no  longer- 
compelled,  as  among  the  Egyptians,  to  succeed  to  his  father's 
craft.  Love  had  helped  to  form  Descoings'  vocation.  He 
had  said  to  himself,  "And  I,  too,  will  be  a  grocer !"  when  he 
had  also  said  something  else  on  seeing  his  master's  wife,  a 
beautiful  creature,  with  whom  he  fell  over  head  and  ears  in 
love.  With  no  auxiliary  but  patience  and  a  little  money  sent 
him  by  his  father  and  mother,  he  married  the  widow  of  the 
worthy  Master  Bixiou,  his  predecessor.  In  1792  Descoings 
was  regarded  as  a  prosperous  man. 

At  that  time  the  parents  Descoings  were  still  living.  They 
had  retired  from  wool,  and  invested  their  wealth  in  buying 
government  stock — another  Golden  Fleece.    Their  son-in- 


4 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


law,  almost  sure  ere  long  to  be  in  mourning  for  his  wife,  sent 
his  daughter  to  his  brother-in-law's  house  in  Paris,  partly 
that  she  might  see  the  capital,  but  also  with  a  crafty  purpose. 
Descoings  had  no  children.  Madame  Descoings,  twelve  years 
older  than  her  husband,  was  in  excellent  health,  but  she  was 
as  fat  as  a  thrush  after  the  vintage;  and  the  wily  Eouget  had 
enough  medical  skill  to  foresee  that  Monsieur  and  Madame 
Descoings,  in  contradiction  to  the  philosophy  of  fairy-tales, 
would  live  happy  and  have  no  children.  The  couple  might 
become  devoted  to  Agathe.  Now  Doctor  Rouget  wanted  to 
disinherit  his  daughter,  and  flattered  himself  it  might  be  done 
if  he  transplanted  her  from  home. 

This  young  person,  at  that  time  the  handsomest  girl  in 
Issoudun,  was  not  in  the  least  like  either  her  father  or  her 
mother.  Her  birth  had  been  the  occasion  of  a  mortal  feud 
between  Doctor  Rouget  and  his  intimate  friend.  Monsieur 
Lousteau,  formerly  a  sub-delegate,  who  had  just  left  Issoudun. 
When  a  family  migrates,  the  natives  of  a  place  so  delightful 
iis  Issoudun  have  a  right  to  inquire  into  the  reasons  of  so  un- 
lieard-of  a  step.  To  believe  some  sharp  tongues,  Monsieur 
?.^ouget,  a  vindictive  man,  had  sworn  that  Lousteau  should  die 
])y  his  hand  alone.  From  a  doctor  the  speech  seemed  as  deadly 
as  a  cannon-ball.  When  the  National  Assembly  abolished 
delegates,  Lousteau  left,  and  never  returned  to  Issoudun, 
After  the  removal  of  this  family,  Madame  Rouget  spent  all 
her  days  with  Madame  Hochon,  the  ex-sub-delegate's  sister, 
her  daughter's  godmother,  and  the  only  person  to  whom  she 
confided  her  woes.  And  what  little  the  citizens  of  Issoudun 
ever  knew  about  the  beautiful  Madame  Rouget  was  told  by 
this  good  soul,  and  not  till  after  the  doctor's  death. 

The  first  thing  Madame  Rouget  said  when  her  husband 
spoke  of  sending  Agathe  to  Paris  was,  "I  shall  never  see  my 
child  again !" — "And  she  was  sadly  right,"  worthy  Madame 
Hochon  would  add. 

The  poor  mother  then  became  as  yellow  as  a  quince,  and  her 
condition  by  no  means  gave  the  lie  to  those  who  declared  that 
Rouget  was  killing  her  by  inches.    Thp  ways  of  her  gawky 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


3 


ninny  of  a  son  must  have  contributed  to  the  griefs  of  the  un- 
justly accused  mother.  Never  checked,  or  perhaps  egged  on 
by  his  father,  the  lad,  who  was  altogether  stupid,  showed  his 
mother  none  of  the  attention  nor  the  respect  due  from  a  son. 
Jean- Jacques  Eouget  was  like  his  father,  but  even  worse ;  and 
the  doctor  was  not  very  admirable^  either  morally  or  physi- 
cally. 

The  advent  of  charming  Agathe  Eouget  brought  no  good 
to  her  uncle  Descoings.  In  the  course  of  the  week — or  rather 
of  the  decade,  for  the  Republic  had  been  proclaimed — he  was 
imprisoned  on  a  hint  from  Eobespierre  to  Fouquier-Tinville. 
Descoings,  being  rash  enough  to  opine  that  the  famine  was  un- 
real, was  fool  enough  to  communicate  his  opinion — he  imag- 
ined that  thought  was  free — to  several  of  his  customers,  male 
and  female,  as  he  served  them  over  the  counter.  Citoyenne 
Duplay,  the  wife  of  the  carpenter  with  whom  Eobespierre 
lodged,  and  herself  the  Grand  Citoyen's  housekeeper,  un- 
happily for  Descoings,  honored  his  shop  with  her  custom. 
This  citoyenne  considered  the  grocer's  views  as  an  insult  to 
Maximilian  the  First.  Ill  pleased  as  she  was  by  the  manners 
of  the  Descoings  couple,  this  illustrious  tricot euse  of  the  Jac- 
obin Club  regarded  Citoyenne  Descoings'  beauty  as  a  kind  of 
aristocracy.  She  added  venom  to  their  language  while  repeat- 
ing it  to  her  benevolent  and  kind-hearted  master.  The  grocer 
was  arrested  on  the  usual  charge  of  ^^monopolizing." 

Descoings  in  prison,  his  wife  made  a  stir  to  obtain  his  re- 
lease ;  but  her  efforts  were  so  ill  judged  that  any  observer  hear- 
ing her  appeal  to  the  arbiters  of  his  fate  might  have  supposed 
that  all  she  asked  was  a  decent  way  of  getting  rid  of  him. 
Madame  Descoings  knew  Bridau,  one  of  the  secretaries  under 
Eoland,  Minister  of  the  Interior,  and  the  right-hand  man  of 
all  who  succeeded  to  that  office.  She  brought  Bridau  into  the 
field  to  save  the  grocer.  This  really  incorruptible  minister,  one 
of  those  virtuous  dupes  who  are  always  so  admirably  disinter- 
ested, took  good  care  not  to  tamper  with  the  men  on  whom 
Descoings'  fate  depended ;  he  tried  to  explain !  Now,  to  ex- 
yilain  to  the  men  of  that  time  had  about  as  much  effect  as 


6 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


though  they  had  been  asked  to  restore  the  Bourbons.  The 
Girondin  Minister,  at  that  time  combating  Kobespierre,  said 
to  Bridau,  "What  business  is  it  of  yours  And  each  man  to 
whom  the  worthy  secretary  applied  made  the  same  ruthless 
reply,  "What  business  is  it  of  yours 

Bridau  very  prudently  advised  Madame  Descoings  to  keep 
quiet;  but  she,  instead  of  conciliating  Eobespierre's  house- 
keeper, spouted  fire  and  flame  against  the  informer ;  she  went  ^ 
to  see  a  member  of  the  Convention,  who  was  in  fear  for  him- 
self, and  who  said,  "I  will  speak  of  it  to  Eobespierre." 

On  this  promise  the  grocer's  wife  rested,  and  her  protector 
naturally  did  not  speak.  A  few  sugar-loaves,  a  few  bottles  of 
good  liqueur  offered  to  Citoyenne  Duplay  would  have  saved 
Descoings. 

This  little  incident  shows  that  in  a  revolution  it  is  as  dan- 
gerous to  trust  for  safety  to  an  honest  man  as  to  a  scoundrel ; 
one  can  rely  only  on  one's  self. 

Though  Descoings  died,  he  had  the  honor,  at  any  rate,  of 
going  to  the  scaffold  with  Andre  de  Chenier.  There,  no  doubt, 
grocery  and  poetry  embraced  for  the  first  time  in  the  flesh; 
for  they  have  always  had,  and  will  always  have,  their  private 
relations.  Descoings'  execution  made  a  far  greater  sensation 
than  Andre  de  Chenier's.  Thirty  years  elapsed  before  it  was 
recognized  that  France  had  lost  more  by  Chenier's  death  than 
by  that  of  Descoings. 

Robespierre's  sentence  had  this  good  result — ^until  1830 
grocers  were  still  afraid  of  meddling  in  politics. 

Descoings'  shop  was  not  more  than  a  hundred  yards  from 
Eobespierre's  lodgings.  The  grocer's  successor  failed  in  busi- 
ness ;  Cesar  Birotteau,  the  famous  perfumer,  established  him- 
self in  the  house.  But,  as  if  the  scaffold  had  infected  the 
place  with  disaster,  the  inventor  of  the  Compound  Sultana 
Paste  and  Eau  Carminative  was  also  ruined.  The  solution 
of  this  problem  is  a  matter  for  occult  science. 

In  the  course  of  the  few  visits  paid  by  the  head-clerk  to  the 
luckless  Descoings'  wife,  he  was  struck  by  the  calm,  cold, 
artless  beauty  of  Agathe  Rouget.  When  he  called  to  console 
the  widow,  who  was  so  far  inconsolable  as  to  retire  from  the 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


7 


business  after  her  second  bereavement,  he  ended  by  marrying 
the  lovely  girl  in  the  course  of  a  ^^decade,"  as  soon  as  her 
father  could  arrive,  and  he  did  not  keep  them  waiting.  The 
doctor,  delighted  at  seeing  things  turn  out  even  better  than  he 
had  hoped,  since  his  wife  was  the  sole  heir^s  of  the  Descoings, 
flew  to  Paris,  not  so  much  to  be  present  at  Agathe's  marriage 
as  to  see  that  the  settlements  were  drawn  to  his  mind.  Citizen 
Bridau,  quite  disinterested,  and  desperately  in  love,  left  this 
matter  entirely  to  the  perfidious  doctor,  who  took  full  advan- 
tage of  his  son-in-law's  infatuation,  as  will  be  seen  in  the 
course  of  this  history. 

Madame  Eouget,  or,  more  accurately,  the  doctor,  inherited 
all  the  estate,  real  and  personal,  of  old  Monsieur  and  Madame 
Descoings,  who  died  within  two  years  of  each  other.  Finall}' , 
Eouget  got  the  better  of  his  wife,  for  she  died  early  in  1799. 
And  he  had  vineyards,  and  he  bought  farmland,  and  he  ac- 
quired iron- works,  and  he  sold  wool ! — His  beloved  son  could 
never  do  anything;  he  intended  that  the  boy  should  be  ii 
landed  proprietor,  and  allowed  him  to  grow  up  in  wealth  and 
folly,  confident  that  he  would  know  as  much  as  the  most 
learned  of  them  all  in  so  far  as  that  he  would  live  and  die 
like  other  folks. 

From  the  year  1799,  the  calculating  heads  of  Issoudun  said 
that  old  Rouget  had  thirty  thousand  francs  a  year.  After  hi;*; 
wife^s  death  the  doctor  still  led  a  dissolute  life,  but  with  more 
method,  so  to  speak,  and  in  the  privacy  of  home-life. 

The  doctor,  a  man  of  strong  v/ill,  died  in  1805.  God  knows 
what  the  good  people  of  Issoudun  had  then  to  tell  of  the 
man's  doings,  and  vv^hat  stories  were  current  of  his  horrible 
private  life.  Jean- Jacques  Rouget,  whom  his  father  had  of 
late  kept  tightly  in  hand,  having  discerned  him  to  be  a  fool, 
remained  unmarried  for  sufficient  reasons,  of  which  the  ex- 
planation will  form  an  important  part  of  this  story.  His 
celibacy  was  in  part  the  doctor's  fault,  as  will  be  seen  later. 

It  is  now  necessary  to  consider  the  results  of  the  vengeance 
visited  by  the  father  on  the  daughter,  whom  he  did  not  recog- 


8 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


nize  as  his,  though  you  may  take  it  for  certain  that  she  was  his 
legitimate  offspring.  Nobody  at  Issoudun  had  observed  one 
of  those  singular  coincidences  which  make  heredity  a  sort  of 
maze  in  which  science  loses  herself.  Agathe  was  very  like 
Doctor  Rouget^s  mother.  Just  as  gout  is  commonly  observed 
to  skip  a  generation,  and  to  be  transmitted  from  grandfather 
to  grandson,  so,  not  unfrequently,  a  likeness  does  the  same 
as  the  gout. 

Thus  Agathe's  eldest  child,  who  was  like  his  mother,  in. 
character  resembled  his  grandfather,  Doctor  Rouget.  We 
will  leave  the  solution  of  this  problem  also  to  the  twentieth 
century,  with  that  of  the  nomenclature  of  microscopic  organ- 
isms, and  our  grandchildren  will  perhaps  write  as  much  more 
nonsense  as  our  learned  Societies  have  already  produced  on 
this  obscure  question. 

Agathe  Rouget,  was  universally  admired  for  one  of  those 
faces  which,  like  that  of  Mary,  the  mother  of  the  Lord,  are 
for  ever  virginal,  even  after  marriage.  Her  portrait,  still 
hanging  in  Bridau's  studio,  shows  a  perfectly  oval  face,  spot- 
lessly fair,  without  even  a  freckle,  notwithstanding  her  golden 
hair.  More  than  one  artist,  seeing  the  pure  brow,  the  deli- 
cate nose,  the  shapely  ear,  the  long  lashes  to  eyes  of  the  deepest 
blue,  and  infinitely  mild — a  face,  in  short,  that  is  the  embodi- 
ment of  placidity — asks  the  great  painter  to  this  day,  "Is  that 
copied  from  one  of  Raphael's  heads 

No  man  ever  made  a  better  choice  than  did  the  Republican 
official  when  he  married  this  girl.  Agathe  was  the  ideal  house- 
wife, trained  by  a  country  life,  and  never  parted  from  her 
mother.  She  was  pious  without  bigotry,  and  had  no  learning 
but  such  as  the  Church  allows  to  women.  And  she  was  a  per- 
fect wife  in  the  vulgar  sense  of  the  word;  indeed,  her  ig- 
norance of  life  involved  her  in  more  than  one  misfortune. 
The  epitaph  on  the  Roman  matron,  "She  wrought  needlework, 
and  kept  the  house,"  is  an  excellent  account  of  her  pure, 
simple,  and  quiet  life. 

At  the  time  of  the  Consulate,  Bridau  attached  himself 
fanatically  to  Napoleon,  who  made  him  head  of  a  department 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


0 


of  state  in  1804,  a  year  before  lioiiget's  death.  Rich  with  a 
salary  of  twelve  thousand  francs  and  very  handsome  presents, 
Bridau  cared  not  at  all  for  the  disgraceful  proceedings  by 
which  the  estate  was  wound  up  at  Issoudun,  and  Agathe  got 
nothing.  Six  months  before  his  death  old  Rouget  had  sold 
part  of  his  estate  to  his  son,  to  whom  he  secured  the  remainder, 
in  part  by  deed  of  gift,  and  in  part  as  his  direct  heir.  An  ad- 
vance on  her  prospective  inheritance  of  a  hundred  thousand 
.francs  secured  under  her  marriage  settlement  represented 
Agathe's  share  of  her  father's  and  mother's  fortune. 

Bridau  idolized  the  Emperor.  He  devoted  himself  with  the 
zeal  of  a  fanatic  to  carrying  out  the  vast  conceptions  of  this 
modern  demi-god,  who,  finding  everything  in  France  in  ruins, 
set  to  work  to  reconstruct  everything.  His  subordinate  never 
said,  "Stay,  enough."  Schemes,  drafts,  reports,  precis,  he 
undertook  the  heaviest  burdens,  so  happy  was  he  to  assist  the 
Emperor.  He  loved  him  as  a  man,  he  adored  him  as  a 
sovereign,  and  would  never  endure  the  slightest  criticism  of 
his  deeds  or  his  schemes. 

From  1804  to  1808  the  official  resided  in  a  large  and  hand- 
some apartment  on  the  Quai  Voltaire,  close  to  his  office  and  the 
Tuileries.  A  cook  and  a  man-servant  composed  the  establish- 
ment in  the  days  of  Madame  Bridau's  splendor.  Agathe, 
always  up  the  first,  went  to  market,  followed  by  her  cook; 
while  the  man  did  the  rooms  she  superintended  the  break- 
fast. Bridau  never  went  to  the  office  before  eleven  o'clock. 
As  long  as  they  both  lived  his  wife  found  every  day  the  same 
pleasure  in  preparing  for  him  a  perfect  breakfast,  the  only 
meal  he  ate  with  enjoyment.  All  the  year  round,  whatever  the 
weather  might  be,  Agathe  watched  her  husband  from  the 
window  on  his  way  to  the  office,  and  never  drew  her  head  in 
till  he  disappeared  round  the  corner  of  the  Rue  du  Bac.  She 
cleared  the  table  herself,  and  looked  round  the  rooms;  then 
she  dressed  and  played  with  the  children,  or  took  them 
for  a  walk,  or  received  visitors  till  her  husband  returned. 
When  the  head-clerk  brought  home  pressing  work  she  would 
sit  by  his  table  in  his  study,  as  mute  as  a  statue,  and  knitting 


10 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


as  she  watched  him  at  work,  sitting  up  as  long  as  he  did,  and 
going  to  bed  a  few  minutes  before  he  went. 

Sometimes  they  went  to  the  play,  sitting  in  the  official  box. 
On  such  occasions  the  pair  dined  at  a  restaurant;  and  the 
scene  it  presented  always  afforded  Madame  Bridau  the  keen 
delight  it  gives  to  persons  unfamiliar  with  Paris.  Compelled, 
not  unfrequently,  to  accept  invitations  to  the  huge  formal 
dinners  given  to  her  husband  as  head  of  a  department,  and 
chief  clerk  of  a  section  of  the  Ministry  of  the  Interior — din- 
ners which  Bridau  duly  returned — Agathe  then  followed  the 
expensive  fashions  of  the  day;  but  on  coming  in  she  gladly 
shed  this  ceremonial  splendor,  and  relapsed  at  home  into 
provincial  simplicity.  Once  a  week,  on  Thursdays,  Bridau 
entertained  his  friends,  and  on  Shrove-Tuesday  he  always 
gave  a  grand  ball. 

This  brief  record  is  the  whole  history  of  a  married  life 
fvhich  saw  but  three  events — the  birth  of  two  children,  one 
Ihree  years  younger  than  the  other,  and  Bridau's  death,  which 
took  place  in  1808;  he  was  simply  killed  by  night-work,  just 
h\s  the  Emperor  was  about  to  promote  him  in  his  office,  and 
to  make  him  a  Count  and  Privy  Councillor.  At  this  time 
TsTapoleon  was  devoting  his  attention  to  home  administration ; 
'  he  overloaded  Bridau  with  work,  and  finally  undermined  this 
valiant  official's  health.  Napoleon,  of  whom  Bridau  had  never 
asked  the  least  thing,  had  inquired  into  his  style  of  living 
and  his  fortune.  On  hearing  that  this  devoted  servant  had 
nothing  but  his  salary,  he  understood  that  here  was  one  of 
those  incorruptible  creatures  who  gave  dignity  and  moral 
tone  to  his  rule,  and  he  intended  to  surprise  Bridau  by  some 
magnificent  recompense.  It  was  his  anxiety  to  finish  an 
immense  piece  of  work  before  Napoleon  should  start  for 
Spain  that  killed  this  worthy  man,  by  bringing  on  an^tack 
of  acute  fever. 

On  the  Emperor's  return,  while  in  Paris  for  a  few  days  pre- 
paring for  the  campaign  of  1809,  on  hearing  of  Bridau's 
death,  he  exclaimed,  "There  are  some  men  who  can  never  be 
replaced!"    Struck  by  a  devotion  that  could  never  have  ex- 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


11 


pected  such  dazzling  rewards  as  he  reserved  for  his  soldiers, 
Napoleon  determined  to  create  an  Order,  with  handsome  pen- 
sions attached,  for  his  Civil  servants,  as  he  had  founded  that 
of  the  Legion  of  Honor  for  the  Military.  The  impression 
made  on  him  by  Bridau's  death  suggested  the  formation  of  the 
Order  of  the  Reunion;  but  he  never  had  time  to  complete  the 
organization  of  this  aristocratic  class,  which  is  now  so  utterly 
forgotten  that,  on  meeting  with  the  name  of  this  ephemeral 
Order,  most  readers  will  wonder  what  was  its  badge;  it  was 
worn  with  a  blue  ribbon.  The  Emperor  styled  it  the  Order 
of  the  Reunion^  with  the  intention  of  combining  the  Order 
of  the  Golden  Fleece  of  Spain  with  that  of  the  Golden  Fleece 
of  Austria,  But  Providence,  as  a  Prussian  diplomate  said, 
was  able  to  hinder  such  profanation. 

The  Emperor  inquired  into  Madame  Bridau's  circum- 
stances. The  two  boys  had  each  a  full  scholarship  at  the 
Lycee  Imperial,  and  the  Emperor  charged  all  the  cost  of  their 
education  to  his  privy  purse.  He  then  entered  Madame 
Bridau's  name  on  the  Pension  List  for  four  thousand  francs 
ji  year,  intending,  no  doubt,  to  provide  ultimately  for  her  two 
i?ons. 

After  her  marriage  till  her  husband's  death  Madame  Bridau 
liad  no  correspondence  whatever  with  Issoudun.  Immedi- 
flitely  before  the  birth  of  her  second  boy  she  heard  of  her 
mother's  death.  When  her  father  died — she  knew  he  had 
loved  her  but  little — the  Emperor's  coronation  was  imminent, 
and  the  ceremony  gave  her  husband  so  much  to  do  that  she 
would  not  leave  him.  Jean- Jacques  Eouget,  her  brother, 
had  never  written  her  a  word  since  she  had  quitted  Issoudun. 
Though  grieved  by  this  tacit  repudiation  by  her  family, 
Agathe  at  last  thought  but  seldom  of  those  who  never  thought 
of  her  at  all.  She  received  a  letter  once  a  year  from  her  god- 
mother, Madame  Hochon,  and  answered  it  in  commonplace 
phrases,  never  heeding  the  warnings  which  the  worthy  and 
ous  woman  gave  her  in  veiled  hints. 

Some  time  before  Doctor  Rouget's  death,  Madame  Hochon 
had  written  to  her  goddaughter  that  she  would  get  nothing 

VOL.  4—28 


12 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


from  her  father^  unless  she  armed  Monsieur  Hochon  with  a 
power  of  attorney.  Agathe  hated  the  idea  of  worrying  her 
brother.  Whether  Bridau  supposed  that  this  appropriation 
was  in  conformity  with  the  common  law  of  the  province  of 
Berry,  or  whether  the  clean-handed  and  upright  husband 
shared  his  wife's  magnanimity  and  indifference  to  pecuniary 
interests,  he  would  not  listen  to  Roguin,  his  attorney,  who 
advised  him  to  take  advantage  of  his  high  position  to  dispute 
the  will  by  which  the  father  had  succeeded  in  robbing  his 
daughter  of  her  legal  share.  Husband  and  wife  thus  sanc- 
tioned what  was  done  at  Issoudun.  However,  Roguin  had 
led  the  official  to  reflect  on  the  damage  to  his  wife's  fortune. 
The  w^orthy  man  perceived  that  in  the  event  of  his  death 
Agathe  would  have  nothing  to  depend  on.  He  then  looked 
into  his  affairs,  and  found  that  between  1793  and  1805  he  and 
his  wife  had  been  obliged  to  draw  out  about  thirty  thousand 
francs  of  the  fifty  thousand  which  old  Rouget  had  given  to 
his  daughter.  He  now  invested  the  remaining  twenty  thou- 
sand in  the  funds,  which  then  stood  at  forty,  so  Agathe  had. 
about  two  thousand  francs  a  year  in  State  securities 
Thus,  as  a  widow,  Madame  Bridau  could  live  very  decent!} 
on  six  thousand  francs  a  year.  Still  very  provincial,  she  was 
about  to  dismiss  the  man-servant,  keep  only  the  cook,  and 
move  to  another  set  of  rooms;  but  Madame  Descoings,  her 
intimate  friend,  who  persisted  in  calling  herself  her  aunt,  gave 
up  her  apartment  and  came  to  live  with  Agathe,  taking  the 
departed  Bridau's  study  for  her  bedroom.  The  two  widows 
joined  their  incomes,  and  found  themselves  possessed  of 
twelve  thousand  francs  a  year. 

Such  an  arrangement  seemed  simple  and  natural.  But 
nothing  in  life  demands  greater  circumspection  than  arrange- 
ments which  seem  natural ;  we  are  always  on  our  guard  against 
what  appears  extraordinary ;  and  so  we  see  that  men  of  great 
experience,  lawyers,  judges,  physicians,  and  priests  attach 
immense  importance  to  such  simple  matters;  and  they  are 
thought  captious.  The  serpent  under  flowers  is  one  of  the 
finest  emblems  bequeathed  to  us  by  the  ancients  as  a  tvarning 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


13 


for  our  conduct.  How  often  does  a  simpleton  exclaim,  as  an 
excuse  in  his  own  eyes  and  those  of  others,  "It  was  such  a 
simple  matter,  that  any  one  would  have  been  caught !" 

In  1809  Madame  Descoings,  who  never  told  her  age,  was 
sixty-five  years  old.  Spoken  of  in  her  day  as  La  Belle 
Epicure^  she  was  one  of  those  rare  women  whom  time  spares, 
and  owed  to  an  excellent  constitution  the  privilege  of  preserv- 
ing her  beauty,  though,  of  course,  it  could  no  longer  bear  seri- 
ous examination.  Of  middle  height,  plump  and  fresh- 
colored,  she  had  fine  shoulders,  and  a  warmly  fair  skin.  Her 
light  hair,  tending  to  chestnut,  showed  no  change  of  hue  in 
spite  of  Descoings'  disastrous  end.  She  was  extremely  dainty, 
and  liked  cooking  rich  little  dishes  for  her  own  eating;  but 
though  she  seemed  devoted  to  the  kitchen,  she  was  also  very 
fond  of  the  theatre,  and,  moreover,  she  indulged  a  vice  which 
she  wrapped  in  the  deepest  mystery — she  put  into  the  lottery. 
Is  not  the  lottery,  perhaps,  the  gulf  which  mythology  has 
figured  under  the  bottomless  vat  of  the  Danaids  ? 

This  woman — we  may  speak  so  of  one  who  gambles  in  the 
lottery — spent  rather  too  much  in  dress,  no  doubt,  like  all 
women  who  are  so  lucky  as  to  remain  youthful  in  advancing 
years ;  but  with  the  exception  of  these  little  failings,  she  was 
the  easiest  creature  to  live  with.  Eeady  to  agree  with  every- 
body, never  contradictory,  she  was  attractive  by  her  gentle 
and  contagious  cheerfulness.  She  had  especially  one  Parisian 
characteristic  which  bewitches  retired  clerks  and  traders — she 
understood  a  joke.  If  she  did  not  marry  a  third  husband, 
that,  no  doubt,  was  the  fault  of  the  times.  During  the  wars 
of  the  Empire,  marrying  men  found  handsome  and  w^ealthy 
girls  too  readily  to  trouble  their  heads  about  a  woman  of 
sixty. 

Madame  Descoings  tried  to  cheer  Madame  Bridau;  she 
made  her  go  often  to  the  play,  or  out  driving;  she  provided 
her  with  capital  little  dinners;  she  even  tried  to  marry  her 
to  her  son  Bixiou.  Alas !  she  was  forced  to  confess  to  her  the 
terrible  secret  that  had  been  so  jealously  kept,  by  herself,  by 
the  departed  Descoings,  and  by  her  lawyer.    The  youth- 


14 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


ful,  dressy  Madame  Descoings,  who  owned  to  no  more  than 
thirty-six,  had  a  son  of  thirty-five  named  Bixiou,  a  widower, 
and  Major  of  the  31st  foot,  who  was  afterwards  killed  at 
Dresden,  as  a  colonel,  leaving  an  only  child,  a  boy.  His 
mother,  who  never  saw  her  grandson  but  in  secret,  spoke  of  the 
colonel  as  a  son  of  her  husband's  by  his  first  wife.  Her  con- 
fession was  an  act  of  expediency;  the  colonel's  boy,  who  was 
at  school  at  the  Lycee  Imperial  with  the  two  Bridaus,  held 
a  half-scholarship.  This  youth,  very  sharp  and  knowing  even 
in  his  school-days,  made  a  great  reputation  later  as  an  artist 
and  a  wit. 

Agathe  cared  for  nothing  on  earth  but  her  children,  and 
would  live  only  for  them;  she  refused  to  marry  again,  alike 
from  good  sense  and  from  faithful  attachment.  But  a  woman 
finds  it  easier  to  be  a  good  wife  than  to  be  a  good  mother.  A 
widow  has  two  duties  of  a  contradictory  nature — she  is  a 
mother,  and  she  ought  to  exert  a  father's  power.  Few  women 
are  strong  enough  to  understand  and  play  this  double  part. 
And  so  poor  Agathe,  with  all  her  virtues,  was  the  innocent 
cause  of  many  misfortunes.  As  a  result  of  her  lack  of  insight, 
and  the  trustfulness  habitual  to  lofty  natures,  Agathe  was  the 
victim  of  Madame  Descoings,  who  dragged  her  into  over- 
whelming disaster.  This  woman  had  a  fancy  for  sets  of 
three  numbers,  and  the  lottery  grants  no  credit  to  ticket 
holders.  As  housekeeper,  she  could  spend  the  money  allotted 
to  the  marketing  in  such  ventures,  and  gradually  increased 
the  debt  in  the  hope  of  enriching  her  grandson,  her  dear 
Agathe,  and  the  young  Bridaus.  When  it  amounted  to  ten 
thousand  francs  she  staked  higher  sums,  always  hoping  that 
the  favorite  combination,  which  had  not  yet  come  out  in  ten 
years,  would  cover  the  loss.  Then  the  debt  swelled  rapidly. 
It  reached  the  sum  of  twenty  thousand  francs ;  Madame  Des- 
coings lost  her  head,  and  her  numbers  did  not  come  out. 

Then  she  wished  to  pledge  her  fortune  in  order  to  repay 
her  niece,  but  her  lawyer  Eoguin  showed  her  that  this  honest 
scheme  was  impossible.  The  elder  Eouget,  at  the  death  of 
his  brother-in-law  Descoings,  had  taken  over  his  liabilities 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


15 


and  assets,  indemnifying  the  widow  by  a  life-annuity,  charged 
on  Jean-Jacques  Kouget's  estate.  No  usurer  would  consent 
to  lend  twenty  thousand  francs  to  a  woman  of  sixty-five  on  a 
life  interest  worth  about  four  thousand,  at  a  time  when  ten 
per  ceni  could  be  got  anywhere.  One  morning  Madame  Des- 
coings  threw  herself  at  her  niece's  feet,  and  with  many  sobs 
confessed  the  state  of  a^fl^airs;  Madame  Bridan  did  not  re- 
proach her.  She  sent  away  the  man-servant  and  the  cook ; 
sold  all  but  the  most  indispensable  furniture;  sold  out  three- 
quarters  of  her^tate  securities,  paid  everything,  and  gave  up 
her  apartment. 

One  of  the  most  hideous  corners  of  Paris  is,  beyond  doubt, 
the  Rue  Mazarine,  between  the  crossing  of  the  Rue  Guenegaud, 
to  where  it  opens  into  the  Rue  de  la  Seine  behind  the  Palais 
de  rinstitut.  The  tall,  gray  walls  of  the  College  and  Library 
presented  to  the  city  of  Paris  by  Cardinal  Mazarin  cast  chill 
shadows  over  this  strip  of  street ;  the  sun  rarely  shines  on  it, 
the  northerly  blast  sweeps  through  it.  The  poor  ruined 
widow  went  to  lodge  on  the  third  floor  of  a  house  in  this 
damp,  dark,  cold  spot. 

Facing  the  house  were  the  buildings  of  the  Institute,  where, 
at  that  time,  were  the  dens  of  the  wild  beasts  known  to  the 
townsfolk  as  artists,  and  to  artists  as  raping — daubers,  art  stu- 
dents. A  man  might  go  in  a  rapin,  and  might  come  out  with 
the  prize  scholarship  at  Rome.  This  transformation  was  not 
effected  without  much  amazing  uproar  at  the  time  of  year 
when  the  competitors  w^ere  shut  up  in  these  cages.  To  take 
the  prize,  the  aspiring  sculptor  had  to  execute,  within  a 
given  time,  a  clay  model  of  a  statue;  the  painter,  one  of  the 
pictures  you  may  behold  at  the  Ecole  des  Beaux-arts;  the 
musician  had  to  compose  a  cantata;  the  architect,  a  design 
for  a  public  bnilding.  At  the  time  when  these  lines  are 
penned,  the  menagerie  has  been  transferred  from  those  cold 
and  gloomy  buildings  to  the  elegant  Palace  of  the  Fine  Arts, 
a  few  yards  from  thence. 

Madame  Bridau's  windows  commanded  a  view  of  these 


16 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


barred  cells,  a  singularly  dreary  outlook.  To  the  north  the 
dome  of  the  Institute  closes  in  the  prospect;  looking  up  the 
street,  the  only  delectation  for  the  eye  is  the  line  of  hackney 
cabs  on  the  stand  at  the  top  of  the  Eue  Mazarine.  Indeed, 
the  widow  at  last  placed  three  boxes  of  earth  outside  her 
windows,  in  which  she  cultivated  one  of  those  aerial  gardens, 
so  obnoxious  to  the  regulations  of  the  police,  which  somewhat 
purify  the  light  and  air. 

The  house,  backing  against  one  in  the  Rue  de  Seine,  is 
necessarily  shallow ;  the  staircase  turns  in  a  spiral.  The  third 
floor  is  the  top;  three  windows  and  three  rooms — a  dining- 
room,  a  little  sitting-room,  and  a  bedroom ;  at  the  back,  on  the 
other  side  of  the  landing,  a  small  kitchen ;  under  the  roof  two 
boys'  rooms,  and  a  vast  unused  garret.  Madame  Bridau  chose 
this  apartment  for  three  reasons:  the  low  rent„  only  four 
hundred  francs,  so  she  agreed  for  a  nine  years'  lease ;  the  near- 
ness of  her  boys'  school,  for  it  was  not  far  from  the  Lycee 
Imperial ;  and  finally,  it  was  in  the  quarter  where  she  was  ac- 
customed to  live.  The  interior  of  the  rooms  was  in  harmony 
with  the  building.  The  dining-room,  hung  with  cheap 
flowered  paper  in  yellow  and  green,  with  an  unpolished  tile 
floor,  had  the  barest  necessary  furniture — a  table,  two 
little  sideboards,  and  six  chairs  brought  from  her  old  home. 
The  drawing-room  was  graced  by  an  Aubusson  carpet,  given 
to  Bridau  when  his  office  was  last  refurnished.  The  widow 
placed  in  it  that  common  mahogany  furniture,  finished  with 
Egyptian  heads,  manufactured  by  the  gross  in  1806  by  Jacob 
Desmalter,  and  covered  with  silk  damask  with  white  conven- 
tional roses. 

Above  the  sofa,  a  portrait  of  Bridau  in  pastel,  the  work  of 
a  friend,  attracted  the  eye  at  once.  Though  the  art  was  not 
above  criticism,  the  brow  plainly  showed  the  firmness  of  the 
unknown  great  citizen.  The  calm  look  of  his  eyes,  at  once 
proud  and  mild,  was  happily  rendered ;  the  sagacity  to  which 
the  prudent  lips  bore  witness,  and  the  honest  smile,  the  whole 
tone  of  the  man  of  whom  the  Emperor  spoke  as  Justum  et 
fenacem,  had  been  caught,  if  not  with  talent,  at  any  rate  with 


A  BAOHELOirS  ESTABLISHMENT 


17 


truth.  As  you  looked  at  this  portrait,  you  could  see  that  this 
man  had  always  done  his  duty.  His  countenance  expressed 
the  incorruptibility  which  must  be  granted  to  many  of  the 
men  employed  during  the  Republic. 

Opposite,  over  a  card  table,  was  the  brilliantly-colored 
picture  of  the  Emperor  by  Vernet,  in  which  Napoleon  is  seen 
riding  past  swiftly,  and  followed  by  his  escort.  Agathe 
allowed  herself  the  luxury  of  two  large  bird-cages — one  full  of 
canaries,  and  one  of  exotic  birds;  she  had  taken  up  this  child- 
like fancy  since  her  loss — irreparable  to  her,  and  to  many 
others. 

As  to  Agathe's  bedroom,  by  the  end  of  three  months  it  had 
become,  what  it  remained  till  the  luckless  day  when  she  was 
obliged  to  leave  it — a  chaos  which  no  description  could  re- 
duce to  order.  Cats  were  at  home  in  the  armchairs;  the 
birds,  sometimes  set  at  liberty,  left  their  traces  on  all  the 
furniture.  The  poor,  kind  soul  strewed  millet  and  groundsel 
for  them  in  all  parts  of  the  room;  the  cats  found  tidbits  in 
broken  saucers.  Clothes  lay  about.  It  was  an  atmosphere 
of  provincialism  and  fidelity.  Everything  that  had  belonged 
to  Bridau  was  carefully  treasured  there ;  his  writing  apparatus 
was  kept  with  the  care  which  the  widow  of  a  knight  would  have 
devoted  to  his  armor.  This  woman's  touching  worship  may 
be  understood  from  a  single  fact — she  had  wrapped  a  pen  in  a 
sealed  packet  and  written  on  it,  "The  last  pen  used  by  my  dear 
husband."  The  cup  from  which  he  had  drunk  for  the  last 
time  was  under  glass  on  the  chimney-shelf.  At  a  later  date 
caps  and  "fronts"  crowned  the  glass  shades  that  covered  these 
treasured  relics. 

After  Bridau's  death,  his  young  widow  of  five-and-thirty 
never  betrayed  a  trace  of  vanity  or  womanly  pride.  Parted  from 
the  only  man  she  had  really  known,  esteemed,  and  loved,  vv^ho 
had  never  caused  her  the  smallest  pang,  she  no  longer  felt 
herself  a  woman;  she  cared  for  nothing;  she  ceased  to  dress. 
Nothing  could  be  more  unaffected  or  more  complete  than  this 
surrender  of  married  happiness  and  personal  care.  Some 
souls  are  endowed  by  love  with  the  power  of  merging  their 


18  A  BACHELOH'S  ESTABLISHMENT 

individuality  in  another;  and  when  the  other  is  gone,  life  is 
no  longer  possible.  Agathe,  who  could  henceforth  live  only 
for  her  children,  felt  the  deepest  grief  at  seeing  how  many 
privations  they  must  suffer  in  consequence  of  her  ruin.  From 
the  day  when  she  moved  to  the  Eue  Mazarine  there  was  a 
tinge  of  melancholy  in  her  expression  that  was  very  touching. 
She  did  indeed  count  a  little  on  the  Emperor,  but  he  could  do 
no  more  than  he  was  already  doing;  he  allowed  each  boy,  be- 
sides his  scholarship,  six  hundred  francs  a  year  out  of  his 
privy  purse. 

As  to  the  dashing  Madame  Descoings,  she  had  an  apart- 
ment similar  to  her  niece's  on  the  second  floor.  She  had 
assigned  to  Madame  Bridau  a  sum  of  a  thousand  crowns,  to 
be  taken  as  a  first  charge  on  her  annuity ;  Roguin  had  taken 
care  of  this  for  Madame  Bridau,  but  it  would  be  seven  yearij 
before  this  slow  repayment  could  undo  the  mischief.  Roguin,, 
instructed  to  replace  the  fifteen  hundred  francs  in  dividends, 
banked  the  sums  he  retained  on  this  account.  Madame  Des- 
coings, reduced  to  twelve  hundred  francs  a  year,  lived  poorly 
enough  with  her  niece.  The  two  honest,  helpless  creatures 
had  a  woman  in  for  the  morning's  work  only.  The  aunt,  who 
liked  cooking,  managed  the  dinner.  In  the  evening,  a  few 
friends,  clerks  in  the  office  for  whom  Bridau  had  found  places, 
would  come  to  play  a  game  with  the  two  widows. 

Madame  Descoings  still  clung  to  her  three  numbers,  which 
obstinately  refused,  as  she  said,  ever  to  come  out.  She  still 
hoped,  by  one  turn  of  luck,  to  repay  all  she  had  surreptitiously 
borrowed  from  her  niece.  She  loved  the  two  little  Bridaus 
better  than  her  grandson  Bixiou,  so  strongly  did  she  feel  that 
she  had  wronged  them,  and  so  greatly  did  she  admire  the 
sweetness  of  her  niece,  who,  at  the  very  worst,  never  spoke  the 
lightest  word  of  blame.  And  so  it  may  be  supposed  that  she 
spoiled  Joseph  and  Philippe.  Like  all  persons  who  have  a 
vice  to  be  forgiven,  this  old  gambler  in  the  Imperial  lottery 
would  treat  them  to  little  dinners,  cramming  them  with 
dainties.  A  little  later  Joseph  and  Philippe  could,  with  the 
greatest  ease,  extract  from  her  little  gifts  of  money;  the 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


19 


younger  to  buy  stumps,  chalk,  paper,  and  prints;  the  elder 
for  apple-puffs,  marbles,  balls  of  string,  and  knives.  Her 
passion  had  brought  her  down  to  being  content  with  fifty 
francs  a  month  for  all  expenses,  that  she  might  gamble  with 
the  remainder. 

Madame  Bridau  on  her  part,  out  of  motherly  affection,  did 
not  allow  her  expenses  to  exceed  that  sum.  To  punish  herself  for 
her  foolish  confidence,  she  now  heroically  cut  oE  all  her  little 
enjoyments.  It  often  happens  to  a  timid  soul  and  narrow 
intellect  that  a  single  experience  of  crushed  feelings  and 
aroused  suspicions  leads  to  such  an  extreme  development  of  a 
failing  that  it  acquires  the  consistency  of  a  virtue.  The  Em- 
peror might  forget,  she  told  herself;  he  might  be  killed  in 
battle — her  pension  would  die  with  him.  She  shuddered  as 
she  saw  such  probabilities  of  her  children  being  left  abso- 
,7utely  penniless.  Incompetent  as  she  was  to  understand 
Roguin^s  calculations,  when  he  tried  to  prove  to  her  that  in 
{.^even  years  a  charge  of  three  thousand  francs  a  year  on 
Madame  Descoings'  annuity  would  replace  the  securities  she 
had  sold,  she  put  no  trust  in  the  lawyer,  or  her  aunt,  or  the 
State;  she  relied  only  on  herself  and  her  own  thrift.  By 
saving  a  thousand  crowns  a  year  out  of  her  pension,  in  ten 
years  she  would  have  thirty  thousand  francs,  which  would  at 
any  rate  secure  her  children  fifteen  hundred  francs  a  year.  At 
six-and- thirty  she  had  a  right  to  hope  that  she  might  live 
twenty  years,  and  by  carrying  out  this  system  she  might  leave 
each  of  them  enough  for  the  bare  necessities  of  life. 

Thus  the  two  widov/s  had  sunk  from  unreal  opulence  to  vol- 
untary penury — one  under  the  influence  of  a  vice,  the  other 
under  the  promptings  of  the  purest  virtue.  None  of  all  these 
trivial  things  are  foreign  to  the  deep  lesson  to  be  derived  from 
this  story,  founded  on  the  sordid  interests  of  common  life, 
but  with  a  scope  all  the  wider  perhaps  in  consequence. 

The  view  over  the  schools,  the  scampering  art  students  in 
the  street,  the  need  for  looking  at  the  sky,  if  only  to  turn 
from  the  hideous  outlook  on  every  side  of  that  m.ouldy  street ; 
the  countenance  of  the  portrait,  full  of  soul  and  dignity  in 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


spite  of  the  amateurish  handling;  the  association  of  the  rich 
coloring,  harmonized  by  age,  of  this  quiet  and  peaceful  home, 
the  greenery  of  its  hanging  gardens,  the  poverty  of  the  house- 
hold, the  mother's  preference  for  her  elder  son,  and  her  dis- 
like to  the  younger  boy's  taste, — in  short,  the  sum-total  of 
the  incidents  and  circumstances  which  form  the  prologue  to 
the  story,  constituted  perhaps  the  active  causes  to  which  we 
owe  Joseph  Bridau,  one  of  the  great  painters  of  the  modern 
French  school. 

Philippe,  the  elder  of  Bridau's  two  children,  was  strikingly 
like  his  mother.  Though  fair-haired  and  blue-eyed,  he  had 
a  daring  look  which  was  often  mistaken  for  high  spirit  and 
courage.  Old  Claparon,  who  had  entered  the  office  at  the 
same  time  with  Bridau,  and  was  one  of  the  faithful  friends 
who  came  in  the  evening  to  play  a  game  with  the  two  widows, 
would  say  of  Philippe  two  or  three  times  in  a  month,  as  he 
patted  his  cheek,  "Here  is  a  brave  little  man,  who  can  always 
say  boo  to  a  goose !"  The  child,  thus  encouraged,  assumed 
a  sort  of  pluck  out  of  bravado.  His  temper  having  taken 
this  bent,  he  became  skilled  in  all  physical  exercises.  By 
dint  of  fighting  at  school,  he  acquired  the  hardihood  and  scorn 
of  pain  which  give  rise  to  military  courage,  but,  of  course, 
he  also  acquired  the  greatest  aversion  for  study ;  for  a  public 
school  can  never  solve  the  difficult  problem  of  developing 
equally  and  simultaneously  the  powers  of  the  body  and  of  the 
mind.  Agathe  inferred  from  his  purely  superficial  resem- 
blance to  her  that  they  must  agree  in  mind,  and  firmly  be- 
lieved that  she  should  some  day  find  in  him  her  own  refined 
feeling,  ennobled  by  a  man's  force  of  nature. 

At  the  time  when  Madame  Bridau  moved  to  the  gloomy 
apartment  in  the  Rue  Mazarine,  Philippe  was  fifteen,  and 
jihe  engaging  ways  of  a  youth  at  that  age  confirmed  his 
mother's  belief.  Joseph,  who  was  three  years  younger,  was  an 
ugly  likeness  of  his  father.  In  the  first  place,  his  bushy  black 
hair  was  always  ill-kempt  wliatevcr  was  done  to  it;  while 
his  brother,  though  he  was  never  quiet,  was  always  trim; 


I 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


21 


then,  by  some  inscrutable  fatality — but  a  too  persistent  fatal- 
ity grows  into  a  habit — Joseph  could  never  keep  his  clothes 
clean  ;  dressed  in  a  new  suit,  he  made  old  clothes  of  them  at 
once.  The  elder,  out  of  personal  vanity,  took  care  of  hib 
things.  Unconsciously,  the  mother  accustomed  herself  to 
scold  Joseph  and  hold  up  the  example  of  his  brother.  So 
Agathe  did  not  always  show  the  same  face  to  her  two  boys; 
and  when  she  went  to  fetch  them  from  school,  she  would  say 
of  Joseph,  "I  wonder  what  state  his  things  will  be  in  V'  All 
these  trifles  drove  her  heart  into  the  gulf  of  favoritism. 

No  one  of  all  the  very  commonplace  people  who  formed 
the  two  widows'  visiting  circle — neither  old  du  Bruel,  nor 
old  Claparon,  nor  Desroches  senior,  nor  even  the  Abbe  Loraux, 
Agathe's  director,  ever  noticed  Joseph's  powers  of  observation. 
Possessed  by  this  taste,  the  future  colorist  paid  no  heed  to 
anything  that  concerned  him ;  and  so  long  as  he  was  a  child, 
this  instinct  looked  so  like  stupidity  that  his  father  had  been 
somewhat  uneasy  about  him.  The  extraordinary  size  of  his 
fikull,  and  the  breadth  of  his  forehead,  had  at  first  led  them  to 
fear  that  the  child  had  water  on  the  brain.  His  face,  still 
so  rugged,  and  odd  enough  to  be  thought  ugly  by  those  who 
cannot  see  the  intellectual  purpose  of  a  countenance,  was, 
during  his  boyhood,  rather  pinched.  The  features,  which 
developed  later,  seemed  crushed  together,  and  the  intensity 
with  which  the  child  studied  everything  puckered  them  still 
more.  Thus  Philippe  soothed  all  his  mother's  vanities,  while 
Joseph  never  won  her  a  compliment.  While  J oseph  was  silent 
and  dreamy,  Philippe  could  bring  out  those  clever  speeches 
and  repartees  which  tempt  parents  to  believe  that  their  chil- 
dren will  be  remarkable  men.  The  mother  looked  for  wonders 
from  Philippe,  she  founded  no  hopes  on  Joseph. 

Joseph's  predisposition  to  art  was  brought  to  light  by  a 
most  commonplace  incident.  In  1812,  during  the  Easter 
holidays,  as  he  was  returning  from  a  walk  in  the  Tuileries 
Gardens  with  his  brother  and  Madame  Descoings,  he  saw  a 
student  scrawl  a  caricature  of  some  professor  on  a  wall,  and 
admiration  of  this  chalk  sketch,  full  of  sparkling  fun,  riveted 


22 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


him  to  the  spot.  On  the  following  day  the  boy  placed  him- 
self at  a  window  to  watch  the  students  going  in  by  the  door 
in  the  Rue  Mazarine ;  he  stole  downstairs,  and  slipped  into  the 
long  courtyard  of  the  Institute,  where  he  saw  a  number  of 
statues  and  busts,  marble  rough-hewn,  terra-cotta  figures, 
studies  in  plaster;  he  gazed  at  them  in  a  fever  of  excitement, 
for  his  instinct  was  roused,  his  vocation  seethed  within  him. 
He  went  into  a  large  low  room,  the  door  standing  open,  and 
there  saw  a  dozen  or  so  of  lads  drawing  a  statue;  he  was  at 
once  the  butt  of  their  tricks. 

"Pretty  Dick !  pretty  Dick  V  said  the  first  to  spy  him, 
flinging  some  bread  crumbs  at  him. 

"Whose  brat  is  that 

"Heavens,  how  ugly  he  is  !" 

In  short,  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  Joseph  stood  the  horse- 
play  of  the  studio — that  of  the  great  sculptor  Chaudet;  but 
after  making  game  of  him,  the  pupils  were  struck  by  his 
tenacity  and  his  expression,  and  asked  him  what  he  wanted. 
Joseph  replied  that  he  very  much  wished  to  learn  to  draw; 
and  thereupon  everybody  was  by  way  of  encouraging  him, 
The  boy,  taken  in  by  this  friendly  tone,  explained  that  he  was 
Madame  Bridau's  son. 

"Oh !  then,  indeed !  If  you  are  Madame  Bridau's  son,'^  they 
sang  out  from  every  corner  of  the  studio,  "you  may  become 
a  great  man.  Hurrah  for  Madame  Bridau's  son.  Is  your 
mother  pretty?  To  judge  from  your  pumpkin  head  as  a 
specimen,  she  ought  to  be  a  sweet  one  to  look  at.^^ 

"So  you  want  to  be  an  artist,"  said  the  eldest  student,  leav- 
ing his  place,  and  coming  to  Joseph  to  play  him  some  trick. 
"But  you  must  be  plucky,  you  know,  and  put  up  with  dreadful 
things.  Yes,  there  are  trials,  tests  that  are  enough  to  break 
your  legs  and  arms.  All  these  fellows  that  you  see — well, 
every  one  of  them  has  passed  the  tests.  Now,  that  one,  for 
instance,  he  went  for  seven  days  and  nights  without  food. 
Come,  let's  see  if  you  are  fit  to  become  an  artist  ?" 

He  took  one  of  the  boy's  arms  and  placed  it  straight  up  in 
the  air,  then  he  set  the  other  at  an  angle  as  if  about  to  striko 
out. 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


23 


"^Wc  call  that  the  ordeal  of  the  telegraph/'  said  he.  "If 
you  stand  like  that  without  letting  your  arms  sink,  or  chang- 
ing your  attitude  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour — well,  you  will 
have  shown  that  you  have  good  pluck 

"Now,  little  chap,  show  your  mettle,"  said  the  others. 
"By  Jove,  you  must  go  through  something  to  become  an 
artist." 

Joseph,  in  all  the  good  faith  of  a  boy  of  thirteen,  remained 
motionless  for  about  five  minutes,  and  all  the  pupils  looked 
at  him  very  gravely. 

"Oh !  your  arm  is  sinking,"  said  one. 

"Come,  steady !"  said  another. 

"By  Jove,  the  Emperor  Napoleon  stood  for  at  least  a  month, 
just  as  you  see  him  there,"  added  a  third,  pointing  to 
Chaudet's  fine  statue. 

The  Emperor  was  standing  holding  the  Imperial  sceptre; 
and  this  work  was  thrown  down  in  1814  from  the  column  it 
finished  so  nobly. 

In  about  ten  minutes  the  perspiration  was  standing  on 
Joseph's  brow.  At  this  moment  a  little  man  came  in,  bald, 
pale,  and  fragile;  respectful  silence  reigned  in  the  studio. 

"Now  then,  you  scamps,  what  are  you  about?"  he  asked, 
looking  at  the  studio  victim. 

"The  little  chap  is  sitting  to  us,"  said  the  tall  student  who 
had  placed  Joseph  in  position. 

"Are  not  you  ashamed  of  torturing  a  poor  child  so?"  said 
Chaudet,  putting  down  Joseph's  arms.  "How  long  have  you 
been  standing  there?"  he  asked,  with  a  friendly  pat  on  the 
boy's  cheek. 

"About  a  quarter  of  an  hour.'' 

"And  what  brings  you  here?" 

"I  want  to  be  an  artist." 

"And  where  have  you  come  from ;  whom  do  you  belong  to 
"From  mamma's." 

"Oh,  ho !  from  mamma's !"  cried  the  pupils. 
"Silence  among  the  easels !"  cried  Chaudet.    "What  is 
your  mother?" 


24  A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 

"She.  is  Madame  Bridau.  My  papa,  who  is  dead,  was  a 
friend  of  the  Emperor's.  And  if  you  will  only  teach  me  to 
draw,  the  Emperor  will  pay  whatever  you  ask." 

''His  father  was  head  of  a  department  in  the  Ministry  of 
the  Interior,"  cried  Chaudet,  struck  by  a  reminiscence. 
''And  you  want  already  to  be  an  artist  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

^  "Come  here  as  often  as  you  like;  you  may  play  here.  Give 
him  an  easel,  paper,  and  chalk,  and  leave  him  to  himself. 
Remember,  you  pickles,  that  his  father  did  me  a  service," 
said  the  sculptor.  "Here,  you.  Well-rope,  go  and  buy  some- 
thing nice— some  cakes  and  sugar-plums,"  he  added,  giving 
some  silver  to  the  lad  who  had  bullied  Joseph.  "We  shall 
soon  see  if  you  are  an  artist  by  the  way  you  munch  cabbage," 
he  went  on,  stroking  Joseph's  chin. 

^  Then  he  went  the  round  of  his  pupils,  Joseph  following 
him,  listening  and  trying  to  understand.  The  treat  was 
brought;  all  the  lads,  the  sculptor  himself,  and  the  child  had 
their  share.  Then  Joseph  was  made  much  of,  as  he  had  be- 
fore been  made  game  of.  This  scene,  in  which  the  rough  fun 
and  good  heart  of  the  artist  tribe  were  revealed  to  him,  as  he 
understood  by  instinct,  made  a  prodigious  impression  on  the 
boy.  This  glimpse  of  Chaudet  the  sculptor,  snatched  away 
by  a  too  early  death  while  the  Emperor's  patronage  promised 
him  glory,  was  like  a  vision  to  Joseph. 

The  child  said  nothing  to  his  mother  of  this  escapade,  but 
every  Sunday  and  Thursday  he  spent  three  hours  in  Chaudet's 
studio.  Madame  Descoings,  always  ready  to  humor  the 
cherubs'  fancies,  henceforth  gave  Joseph  charcoal,  red  chalk, 
lithographs,  and  drawing-paper.  At  the  Lycee  Imperial  the 
budding  artist  sketched  the  masters,  took  portraits  of  his 
school-fellows,  scrawled  on  the  dormitory  walls,  and  was 
astonishingly  diligent  in  the  drawing-class.  Lemire,  his 
master  there,  astounded  not  merely  by  his  talent,  but  by  the 
progress  he  made,  came  to  speak  to  Madame  Bridau  of  her 
son's  evident  vocation.  Agathe,  a  true  provincial,  and  as 
ignorant  of  art  as  she  was  accomplished  in  housekeeping,  was 


She  found  Chaudet  in  his  blue  overall,  modeling  his  latest  siaiue 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


25 


filled  with  alarms.  When  Lemire  was  gone,  she  burst  into 
tears. 

"Oh!"  she  cried,  as  Madame  Descoings  came  in,  "I  am  un- 
done !  Joseph,  whom  I  meant  to  make  a  clerk,  who  has  his  way- 
ready  made  for  him  in  the  Ministry  of  the  Interior,  and 
guarded  by  the  shade  of  his  father,  would  have  been  at  the 
head  of  an  office  by  the  time  he  was  five-and- twenty. — Well, 
he  is  bent  on  being  a  painter — a  beggar's  trade.  I  always 
knew  that  boy  would  bring  me  nothing  but  trouble !" 

Madame  Descoings  had  to  confess  that  for  some  months 
past  she  had  been  encouraging  Joseph  in  his  passion  and 
screening  his  stolen  Sunday  and  Thursday  visits  to  the  School 
of  Art.  At  the  Salon,  whither  she  had  taken  him,  the  little 
fellow's  interest  in  the  pictures  was  something  miraculous. 

"And  if  he  understands  painting  at  the  age  of  thirteen,  my 
dear,  your  Joseph  will  be  a  man  of  genius." 

"I  daresay ;  and  see  what  genius  brought  his  father  to  !  To 
die,  worked  to  death,  at  forty." 

Late  in  the  autumn,  just  as  Joseph  was  reaching  the  age  of 
fourteen,  Agathe,  in  spite  of  Madame  Descoings'  entreaties, 
went  across  to  see  Chaudet,  and  insist  that  her  son  should  not 
be  led  into  mischief.  She  found  Chaudet  in  his  blue  over- 
all, modeling  his  latest  statue.  He  was  barely  civil  in  his  re- 
ception of  the  widow  of  the  man  who  had  once  done  him  a 
service  in  very  critical  circumstances,  but  his  health  was 
already  undermined ;  he  was  working  with  the  fevered  energy 
which  enables  a  man  to  do  in  a  few  moments  things  which  it 
is  difficult  to  achieve  in  as  many  months ;  he  had  just  hit  on  a 
thing  he  had  long  been  striving  for,  and  handled  his  clay  and 
modeling  tool  with  hasty  jerks  which,  to  Agathe,  in  her  igno- 
rance, seemed  to  be  those  of  a  maniac.  In  any  other  frame  of 
mind  Chaudet  would  have  laughed  outright ;  but  as  he  heard 
this  mother  blaspheming  Art,  bewailing  the  fate  forced  upon 
her  son,  and  requesting  that  he  might  never  more  be  admitted 
to  the  studio,  he  broke  out  in  sacred  fury. 

"I  am  under  obligations  to  your  lamented  husband;  I 
hoped  to  make  him  some  return  by  helping  your  son,  by 


26 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


watching  over  your  little  Joseph's  first  step  in  the  noblest  of 
all  careers  V  he  exclaimed.  "Yes,  madame,  I  may  tell  you, 
if  you  do  not  know  it,  that  a  great  artist  is  a  king,  more  than 
a  king;  for,  in  the  first  place,  he  is  happier,  and  he  is  inde- 
pendent ;  he  lives  as  he  pleases ;  and  besides,  he  rules  over  the 
vvorld  of  imagination.  Your  son  has  a  splendid  future  before 
him !  Such  talents  as  his  are  rare ;  they  are  not  revealed 
so  young  in  any  artists  but  a  Giotto,  a  Eaphael,  a  Titian,  a* 
Rubens,  a  Murillo — for  he  will  be  a  painter,  I  think,  rather 
than  a  sculptor.  Light  of  Heaven !  If  I  had  such  a  boy,  I 
should  be  as  happy  as  the  Emperor  is  in  being  the  father  of 
the  King  of  Eome  I — Well,  madame,  you  are  mistress  of  youi 
child's  fate.  Go,  make  an  idiot  of  him,  a  man  who  will  only 
put  one  leg  before  the  other,  a  wretched  scrivener;  you  will 
be  committing  murder !  I  only  hope  that,  in  spite  of  all  your 
efforts,  he  will  alM^ays  remain  an  artist !  A  vocation  is  stronger 
than  all  the  obstacles  opposed  to  its  working.  A  vocation! 
— the  word  means  a  call — Ah !  it  is  election  by  God ! 

"But  you  will  make  your  child  miserable 

He  violently  flung  the  handful  of  clay  he  had  ceased  to  need 
into  a  tub,  and  said  to  his  model,  "That  will  do  for  to-day." 

Agathe  looked  up,  and  saw  a  naked  woman  sitting  on  a 
stool,  in  a  corner  of  the  studio  which  had  not  yet  come  under 
her  eye.    At  the  sight  she  fled  in  horror. 

"You  are  not  to  let  little  Bridau  come  here  any  more,''  said 
Chaudet  to  his  pupils.  "Madame  his  mother  does  not  ap- 
prove." 

"Hoo-oo !"  shouted  the  lads  as  Agathe  closed  the  door. 

"And  Joseph  has  been  going  to  that  place !"  said  the  poor 
woman,  in  consternation  at  what  she  had  seen  and  heard. 

As  soon  as  the  students  of  painting  and  sculpture  heard 
that  Madame  Bridau  would  not  allow  her  son  to  become  an 
artist,  all  their  delight  was  to  get  Joseph  to  their  own  rooms. 
In  spite  of  the  promise  extracted  from  him  by  his  mother 
not  to  go  any  more  to  the  Institute,  the  boy  often  stole  into 
a  studio  that  Eegnauld  used  there,  and  was  encouraged  to 
daub  canvas.    When  the  widow  tried  to  complain,  Cliaudet's 


A  BACllELOirS  ESTABLISHMENT 


27 


pupils  told  her  that  Ecgiiauld  was  not  Chaudct,  that  she  had 
not  made  them  the  guardians  of  monsieur  her  son,  and 
laughed  at  her  in  a  thousand  ways.  The  rascally  students 
composed  and  sang  a  ballad  on  Madame  Bridau  in  a  hundred 
and  thirty-seven  verses. 

On  the  evening  of  that  melancholy  day,  Agathe  refused  to 
play  cards,  and  sat  in  her  armchair,  a  prey  to  such  deep  melan 
choly,  that  the  tears  welled  up  to  her  beautiful  eyes. 

"What  is  the  matter,  Madame  Bridau  asked  old  Clapa- 
ron. 

"She  believes  that  her  son  will  have  to  beg  his  bread  be- 
cause he  has  the  bump  of  painting,"  said  Madame  Descoings. 
"But  I  have  not  the  smallest  misgiving  as  to  my  stepson's  boy, 
little  Bixiou,  though  he  too  has  a  passion  for  drawing.  Men 
are  made  to  fight  their  way." 

"Madame  is  right,"  said  Desroches,  a  hard,  dry  man,  who  in 
spite  of  his  abilities  had  never  been  able  to  rise  in  his  office. 
"I  happily  have  but  one  son ;  for  with  my  salary  of  eighteen 
hundred  francs,  and  my  wife,  who  makes  barely  twelve  hun- 
dred by  her  license  to  sell  stamps,  what  would  have  become  of 
me?  I  have  articled  my  boy  to  an  attorney;  he  gets  twenty- 
five  francs  a  month  and  his  breakfast,  and  I  give  him  the  same 
sum;  he  dines  and  sleeps  at  home.  That  is  all  he  has;  he 
must  needs  go  on,  and  he  will  make  his  way.  I  have  cut  out 
more  work  for  my  youngster  than  if  he  v/ere  at  college,  and 
he  will  be  an  attorney  some  day;  when  I  treat  him  to  the 
play  he  is  as  happy  as  a  king,  he  hugs  me !  .  Oh !  I  keep  him 
tight !  He  has  to  account  to  me  for  all  his  money.  You 
are  too  easy  with  your  children.  If  your  boy  wants  to  try 
roughing  it,  let  him  alone !    He  will  turn  out  all  right." 

"For  my  part,"  said  du  Bruel,  a  retired  head-clerk  who 
had  just  taken  his  pension,  "my  boy  is  but  sixteen,  and  his 
mother  worships  him.  But  I  would  not  listen  to  a  vocation 
that  declared  itself  at  such  an  early  age.  I  think  boys  want 
directing." 

"You,  monsieur,  are  rich ;  you  are  a  man,  and  have  but  one 

child,"  said  Agathe. 
VOL.  4 — 29 


2^  A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 

''On  my  honor,"  Claparon  went  on,  "our  children  are  our 
tyrants  (in  hearts).  Mine  drives  me  mad;  he  has  brought 
me  to  ruin,  and  at  last  I  have  given  him  up  altogether  {inde- 
pendence). Well,  he  is  all  the  better  pleased,  and  so  am  I. 
The  rascal  was  partly  the  death  of  his  poor  mother.  He  be- 
came a  commercial  traveler,  and  it  was  the  very  life  for  him ; 
no  sooner  was  he  in  the  house  than  he  wanted  to  be  out  of  it ; 
lie  never  could  rest,  he  never  would  learn.  All  I  pray  Heaven 
is  that  I  may  die  without  seeing  him  disgrace  my  name! — 
Those  who  have  no  children  miss  many  pleasures,  but  they 
also  escape  many  troubles." 

"J ust  like  a  father !"  said  Agathe,  beginning  to  cry  again. 

"What  I  tell  you,  my  dear  Madame  Bridau,  is  to  prove  to 
you  that  you  must  allow  your  boy  to  become  a  painter ;  other- 
wise you  will  lose  your  time  " 

"If  you  were  capable  of  keeping  him  in  hand,"  said  the 
harsh  Desroches,  "I  would  tell  you  to  oppose  his  wishes ;  but, 
seeing  you  so  weak  with  them,  I  say — let  him  daub  and 
scribble." 

"Lost !"  said  Claparon. 

"What  ?    Lost !"  cried  the  unhappy  mother. 

"Oh  yes,  my  Independence  in  hearts — that  dry  stick  Des- 
roches always  makes  me  lose." 

"Be  comforted,  Agathe,"  said  Madame  Descoings;  "Joseph 
will  be  a  great  man." 

At  the  end  of  this  discussion,  which  was  like  every  earthly 
discussion,  the  widow^s  friends  united  in  one  opinion,  which 
by  no  means  put  an  end  to  her  perplexities.  She  was  advised 
to  allow  Joseph  to  follow  his  bent. 

"And  if  he  is  not  a  man  of  genius,"  said  du  Bruel,  who 
was  civil  to  Agathe,  "you  can  always  get  him  a  place." 

On  the  landing  Madame  Descoings,  seeing  out  the  three 
old  clerks,  called  them  the  "three  Sages  of  Greece." 

"She  worries  herself  too  much,"  said  du  Bruel. 

"She  may  think  herself  only  too  lucky  that  her  hoy  will  do 
anything!"  said  Claparon. 

"If  only  God  preserves  the  Emperor,"  said  Desroches, 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


29 


Joseph  will  be  provided  for  elsewhere.  So  what  has  she  to  be 
anxious  about 

"She  is  afraid  of  everything  where  her  children  are  con- 
cerned/^ replied  Madame  Descoings. 

"Well,  dear  little  woman/^  she  went  on,  as  she  re-entered  the 
room,  "you  see  they  are  all  of  one  mind.  What  have  you  to 
cry  for  now  ?" 

"Oh !  if  it  were  Philippe,  I  should  have  no  fears.  You  do 
not  know  what  goes  on  in  those  studios.  They  actually  have 
naked  women  there 

"But  they  have  a  fire,  I  hope,^'  said  Madame  Descoings. 

A  few  days  later  news  came  of  the  disastrous  rout  at  Mos- 
cow. Napoleon  was  returning  to  organize  fresh  armies  and 
call  on  France  for  further  sacrifices.  Now  the  poor  mother 
was  tortured  by  very  different  alarms.  Philippe,  who  did  not 
like  college,  was  positively  bent  on  serving  the  Emperor.  A 
review  at  the  Tuileries,  the  last  Napoleon  ever  held,  of 
which  Philippe  was  a  spectator,  had  turned  his  head.  At 
that  period  of  military  display  the  sight  of  the  uniforms,  the 
authority  of  an  epaulette,  had  an  irresistible  fascination  for 
some  young  men.  Philippe  believed  himself  to  have  the  same 
taste  for  military  service  that  his  brother  had  for  the  arts. 

Unknown  to  his  mother,  he  wrote  to  the  Emperor  a  petition 
in  the  following  words : 

"SiRE^ — I  am  the  son  of  your  Bridau ;  I  am  eighteen  years 
old,  and  measure  nearly  six  feet;  I  have  stout  legs,  a  good 
constitution,  and  I  wish  to  be  one  of  your  soldiers.  I  appeal 
to  your  favor  to  be  enrolled  in  the  army,  etc.'^ 

Within  twenty-four  hours  the  Emperor  had  sent  Philippe 
to  the  Imperial  Military  School  of  Saint-Cyr;  and  six  months 
later,  in  November  1813,  he  called  him  out  as  sub-lieutenant 
in  a  cavalry  regiment.  During  part  of  the  winter  Philippe 
remained  in  depot;  but  as  soon  as  he  had  learned  to  ride  he 
set  out  full  of  ardor.  In  the  course  of  the  campaign  in 
France,  he  gained  the  lieutenancy  in  a  skirmish  of  the  ad- 
vanced guard,  when  his  headlong  valor  saved  Ms  Colonel 


so  A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLJSHMENT 

The  Emperor  made  him  Captain  after  the  battle  of  La  Fere- 
Champenoise,  and  placed  him  on  the  staff.  Stimulated  by 
this  promotion,  at  Montereau  Philippe  won  the  Cross.  Then, 
having  witnessed  Napoleon's  farewell  at  Fontainebleau,  and 
being  driven  to  fanaticism  by  the  scene,  Captain  Philippe 
refused  to  serve  under  the  Bourbons. 

When  he  went  home  to  his  mother  in  July  1814,  he  found 
lier  a  ruined  woman.  In  the  course  of  the  long  vacation 
Joseph's  scholarship  was  cancelled;  and  Madame  Bridau, 
whose  pension  had  been  paid  out  of  the  Emperor's  privy  purse, 
vainly  applied  for  a  clerkship  for  him  in  the  offices  of  the 
Ministry  of  the  Interior.  Joseph,  more  than  ever  devoted 
to  painting,  was  enchanted,  and  only  besought  his  mother  to 
allow  him  to  go  to  Monsieur  Eegnauld's  studio,  promising 
her  that  he  would  make  a  living.  He  was,  he  said,  high 
enough  in  the  second  class  at  school,  and  could  get  on  without 
rhetoric. 

Philippe,  a  captain,  and  wearing  an  Order  at  nineteen,  after 
serving  under  Napoleon  on  two  battlefields,  immensely  flat- 
tered his  mother's  pride ;  so,  though  he  was  rough,  noisy,  and 
in  reality  devoid  of  all  merit  but  the  vulgar  courage  of  a 
slashing  swordsman,  to  her  he  was  the  man  of  genius ;  while 
Joseph,  who  was  small,  sickly,  and  thin,  with  a  rugged  brow, 
who  loved  peace  and  quiet,  and  dreamed  of  fame  as  an  artist, 
was  doomed,  as  she  declared,  never  to  give  her  anything  but 
worry  and  anxiety.  The  winter  of  1814-15  was  a  good  one 
for  Joseph,  who,  by  the  secret  interest  of  Madame  Descoings 
and  of  Bixiou,  a  pupil  of  Gros,  vv^as  admitted  to  work  in  that 
famous  studio,  whence  proceeded  so  many  different  types  of 
talent,  and  where  he  formed  a  close  intimacy  with  Schinner. 

Then  came  the  great  20th  of  March;  Captain  Bridau,  who 
joined  the  Emperor  at  Lyons  and  escorted  him  back  to  the 
Tuileries,  was  promoted  to  be  Major  of  the  Dragoon  Guards. 
After  the  battle  of  Waterloo,  where  he  was  wounded,  but 
slightly,  and  won  the  Cross  of  a  Commander  of  the  Legion  of 
Honor,  he  next  found  himself  with  Marechal  Davoust  at 
Saint-Denis,  and  not  with  the  army  of  the  Loire;  thus,  by 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


31 


the  interest  of  Marccbal  Davoust,  he  was  allowed  to  retain 
his  Cross  and  his  rank  in  the  army,  but  he  was  put  upon  half- 
pay.  Joseph,  uneasy  about  the  future,  studied  meanwhile 
with  an  ardor  that  made  him  ill  more  than  once  in  the  midst 
of  the  hurricane  of  public  events. 

"It  is  the  smell  of  paint/^  Agathe  would  say  to  Madame 
Descoings.  "He  ought  to  give  up  work  that  is  so  bad  for 
his  health." 

All  Agathe's  anxieties  were  then  centered  in  her  son  the 
Lieutenant-Colonel.  She  saw  him  again  in  1816,  fallen  from 
his  pay  and  profits  of  about  nine  thousand  francs  a  year  as 
Major  in  the  Emperor's  Dragoon  Guards,  to  half-pay  amount- 
ing to  three  hundred  francs  a  month;  she  spent  her  little 
savings  in  furnishing  for  him  the  attic  over  the  kitchen. 

Philippe  was  one  of  the  most  assiduous  Bonapartists  that 
haunted  the  Cafe  Lemblin,  a  thorough  constitutional  Boeotia. 
There  he  acquired  the  habits,  manners,  and  style  of  living 
of  half-pay  officers ;  nay,  he  outdid  them,  as  any  young  man 
<)f  twenty  was  sure  to  do,  solemnly  vowing  a  mortal  hatred  of 
the  Bourbons ;  he  was  not  to  be  talked  over,  and  even  refused 
such  opportunities  as  were  offered  him  of  employment  in  the 
field  with  his  full  rank.  In  his  mother's  eyes  Philippe  was 
showing  great  strength  of  character. 

"His  father  could  have  done  no  better,"  said  she. 

Philippe  could  live  on  his  half-pay.  He  would  cost  his 
mother  nothing,  while  Joseph  was  entirely  dependent  on  the 
two  widows.  From  that  moment  Agathe's  preference  for 
Philippe  was  manifest.  Hitherto  it  had  been  covert ;  but  the 
persecution  under  which  he  suffered  as  a  faithful  adherent  to 
the  Emperor,  the  memory  of  the  wound  her  darling  son  had 
received,  his  courage  in  adversity — which,  voluntary  as  it  was, 
seemed  to  her  noble  adversity — brought  out  Agathe's  weak- 
ness.   The  words,  "He  is  unfortunate,"  justified  everything. 

Joseph,  whose  nature  overflowed  with  the  childlike  simplicity 
which  is  superabundant  in  the  youthful  artist-soul,  and  who 
had  been  brought  up  to  admire  his  elder  brother,  far  from 
resenting  his  mother's  favoritism,  vindicated  it  by  sharing 


82 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


in  her  worship  of  a  ^Veteran"  who  had  won  !N"apoleon's 
Orders  in  two  battles — of  a  man  wounded  at  Waterloo.  How 
could  he  doubt  the  superiority  of  this  big  brother,  whom  he 
had  seen  in  the  splendid  green-and-gold  uniform  of  the  Dra- 
goon Guards,  at  the  head  of  his  squadron  on  the  Champ  de 
Mai.  And  in  spite  of  her  preference,  Agathe  was  a  good 
mother.  She  loved  Joseph,  but  not  blindl}^;  she  simply  did 
not  understand  him.  Joseph  worshiped  his  mother,  whereas 
Philippe  allowed  her  to  adore  him.  Still,  for  her  the  dragoon 
moderated  his  military  coarseness,  while  he  never  disguised 
his  contempt  for  Joseph,  though  expressing  it  not  unkindly. 
As  he  looked  at  his  brother's  powerful  head,,  too  large  for  a 
body  kept  thin  by  constant  work,  and  still,  at  the  age  of  seven- 
teen, slight  and  weakly,  he  would  call  him  *^the  brat."  His 
patronizing  ways  would  have  been  offensive  but  for  the  artist's 
indifference,  in  the  belief,  indeed,  that  a  soldier  always  had  a 
kind  heart  under  his  rough  manners.  The  poor  boy  did  not 
yet  know  that  really  first-rate  military  men  are  as  gentle  and 
polite  as  other  superior  persons.  Genius  is  everywhere  true  to 
itself. 

'Toor  child!"  Philippe  would  say  to  his  mother.  "Don't 
tease  him ;  let  him  amuse  himself."  And  this  contempt  was 
in  his  mother's  eyes  an  evidence  of  brotherly  affection. 

*Thilippe  will  always  love  and  protect  his  brother,"  she 
thought. 

In  1816  Joseph  obtained  his  mother's  permission  to  con- 
vert the  loft  adjoining  his  bedroom  into  a  painting  room,  and 
Madame  Descoings  gave  him  a  small  sum  to  purchase  such 
things  as  were  indispensable  to  his  *'l)usiness"  as  a  painter; 
for  in  the  minds  of  the  two  widows  painting  was  but  a  trade. 
Joseph,  with  the  energy  and  zeal  that  are  part  of  such  a 
vocation,  arranged  everything  in  his  humble  studio  with  his 
own  hands.  The  landlord,  at  Madame  Descoings'  request, 
made  a  skylight  in  the  roof.  Thus  the  attic  became  a  large 
room^  and  was  painted  chocolate-color  by  Joseph;  he  hung 
some  sketches  against  the  walls;  Agathe,  not  very  willingly, 
had  a  small  cast-iron  stove  fixed ;  and  Joseph  could  now  work 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


33 


at  home,  not,  however,  neglecting  Gros'  studio  or  Schinner's. 

The  Constitutional  party,  consisting  largely  of  half-pay 
officers  and  the  Bonapartists,  were  at  that  time  frequently 
engaged  in  riots  round  the  House  of  Eepresentatives,  in  the 
name  of  the  Charter,  which  no  one  would  hear  of,  and  they 
plotted  sundry  conspiracies.  Philippe,  who  must  needs  get 
mixed  up  in  them,  was  arrested,  but  released  for  lack  of  evi- 
dence; but  the  War  Minister  cut  off  his  half -pay,  reducing 
him  to  what  might  be  called  punishment  pay.  France  was  no 
longer  the  place  for  him ;  Philippe  would  end  by  falling  into 
some  trap  laid  by  the  Government  agents.  There  was  at  that 
time  a  great  talk  of  these  agents  provocateurs.  So,  while 
Philippe  was  playing  billiards  in  cafes  suspected  of  disaffec- 
tion, losing  his  time,  and  getting  into  a  habit  of  drinking 
various  liqueurs,  Agathe  lived  in  mortal  terrors  for  the  great 
man  of  the  family. 

The  ^''three  Sages  of  Greece'^  were  too  well  used  to  walking 
the  same  way  every  evening,  to  mounting  the  stairs  to  the 
widows'  rooms,  and  to  finding  the  ladies  always  expecting 
-them,  and  anxious  to  ask  them  the  news  of  the  day,  ever  to 
cease  their  visits;  they  came  regularly  to  their  game  in  the 
little  green  drawing-room.  The  Ministry  of  the  Interior, 
thoroughly  purged  in  1816,  had  kept  Claparon  on  its  lists 
as  one  of  the  trimmers  who  murmur  in  an  undertone  the  news 
from  the  Moniteur,  adding,  "Do  not  get  me  into  trouble!" 
Desroches,  dismissed  soon  after  his  senior  du  Bruel,  was  still 
fighting  for  his  pension.  These  three  friends,  seeing  Agathe's 
despair,  advised  her  to  send  the  Colonel  abroad. 

"There  is  much  talk  of  conspiracies,  and  your  son,  with  his 
character,  will  be  the  victim  of  some  such  affair,  for  there  is 
always  some  one  to  peach." 

"The  Devil  I"  said  du  Bruel,  in  a  low  voice,  and  looking 
about  him.  "He  is  the  stuff  of  which  his  Emperor  used  to 
make  his  marshals,  and  he  ought  not  to  give  up  his  calling. 
Let  him  serve  in  the  East,  in  the  Indies  " 

"But  his  health  ?"  objected  Agathe. 

"Why  does  not  he  enter  an  office?"  said  Desroches.  "So 


34 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


many  private  concerns  are  being  started.  I  mean  to  get  a 
place  as  head-clerk  in  an  Assurance  Company  as  soon  as  my 
pension  is  settled." 

"Philippe  is  a  soldier;  he  only  cares  for  fighting,"  said 
Agathe  the  warlike. 

"Then  he  should  be  a  good  boy,  and  apply  for  active  ser- 
vice with  " 

"This  crew  ?"  cried  the  widow.  "Oh,  you  will  never  get  me 
to  suggest  it !" 

"You  are  wrong,"  replied  du  Bruel.  "My  son  has  just  been 
helped  on  by  the  Due  de  Navarreins.  The  Bourbons  are  very 
good  to  all  who  join  them  honestly.  Your  son  will  be  appoint- 
ed as  Lieutenant-Colonel  to  a  regiment." 

"They  will  take  none  but  noblemen  in  the  cavalry,  and  he 
will  never  be  full  colonel,"  cried  Madame  Descoings. 

Agathe,  in  great  alarm,  implored  Philippe  to  go  abroad 
and  offer  his  services  to  some  foreign  power.  Any  one  of 
them  would  receive  with  favor  an  officer  of  the  Emperor's 
staff. 

"Serve  with  foreigners?"  cried  Philippe  in  horror. 

Agathe  embraced  her  son  fervently,  exclaiming,  "He  is  his 
father  all  over." 

"He  is  quite  right,"  said  Joseph.  "A  Frenchman  is  too 
proud  of  his  column  to  lead  any  foreign  columns.  Besides, 
Napoleon  may  come  back  again  yet." 

To  please  his  mother,  a  splendid  idea  occurred  to  Philippe : 
He  might  join  General  Lallemand  in  the  United  States,  and 
co-operate  in  founding  the  Champ  d'Asile,  one  of  the  most 
disastrous  hoaxes  ever  perpetrated  under  the  name  of  a  Na- 
tional Fund.  Agathe  paid  ten  thousand  francs,  and  went 
with  her  son  to  le  Havre  to  see  him  on  board  ship. 

At  the  end  of  1817,  Agathe  was  managing  to  live  on  the  six 
hundred  francs  a  year  left  to  her  in  Government  securities; 
then,  by  a  happy  inspiration,  she  invested  at  once  the  ten 
thousand  francs  that  remained  to  her  of  her  savings,  and  so 
had  seven  hundred  francs  a  year  more. 

Joseph  wished  to  contribute  to  her  act  of  sacrifice;  he  went 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


35 


about  dressed  like  a  bum-bailiff,  wearing  thick  shoes  and  blue 
socks ;  he  wore  uo  gloves ;  he  burnt  coal  instead  of  wood ;  he 
lived  on  bread,  milk,  and  cheap  cheese.  The  poor  lad  never 
heard  a  word  of  encouragement  from  anybody  but  old  Madame 
Descoings  and  from  Bixiou,  his  school-fellow  and  fellow- 
student,  who  was  by  this  time  employed  in  drawing  capital 
little  caricatures,  besides  having  a  small  place  in  a  Govern- 
ment office. 

"How  glad  I  was  to  see  the  summer  of  1818 Bridau 
would  often  say  when  speaking  of  these  hard  times.  "The 
sun  saved  my  buying  fuel.^' 

He  was  already  quite  as  good  a  colorist  as  Gros,  and  only 
went  to  his  master  for  advice;  he  was  thinking  of  riding  a 
tilt  at  the  classic  school,  of  breaking  free  from  Greek  con- 
ventionality and  the  leading  strings  which  fettered  an  art 
whose  birthright  is  nature  as  it  is,  in  the  omnipotence  of  its 
creativeness  and  its  caprice.  Joseph  was  making  ready  for  the 
struggle  which,  from  the  day  when  he  first  exhibited  at  the 
Salon,  was  never  more  to  cease. 

It  was  a  terrible  year  for  them  all.  Roguin,  the  widows' 
notary,  disappeared,  taking  with  him  all  the  money  kept  back 
during  the  past  seven  years  from  Madame  Descoings'  annuity, 
which  by  this  time  ought  to  have  been  bringing  them  in  two 
thousand  francs  a  year.  Three  days  after  this  catastrophe  there 
came  from  New  York  a  bill  drawn  on  his  mother  by  Colonel 
Philippe.  The  poor  fellow,  swindled  like  so  many  more,  had 
lost  everything  in  the  scheme  for  the  Champ  d  Asile.  This 
letter,  by  which  Agathe,  Madame  Descoings,  and  Joseph  all 
were  melted  to  tears,  spoke  of  debts  incurred  at  New  York, 
where  his  companions  in  misfortune  had  stood  suret}^  for 
him. 

"And  it  is  all  my  doing  that  he  went !"  cried  the  poor 
mother,  ingenious  in  finding  excuses  for  Philippe's  sins. 

"I  advise  you  not  to  send  him  often  on  such  journej^s/^ 
said  old  Madame  Descoings  to  her  niece. 

Madame  Descoings  was  heroic;  she  still  paid  Madame 
Bridau  a  thousand  crowns ;  but  ^she  also  still  paid  regularly  to 


S6  A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLIStlMEJNl^ 

keep  up  the  three  numbers  which  had  never  come  out  sinc^i 
1799.  At  this  time  she  began  to  doubt  the  honesty  of  the 
management.  She  accused  the  Government  authorities,  be- 
lieving them  quite  capable  of  suppressing  the  issue  of  the 
three  numbers  in  the  drawing  so  as  to  keep  up  the  frenzied 
deposits  of  the  ticket-holders. 

After  a  brief  consideration  of  ways  and  means,  it  seemed 
impossible  to  raise  a  thousand  francs  without  selling  some 
shares.  The  two  women  talked  of  pledging  their  plate,  some 
of  their  house  linen,  or  even  part  of  the  furniture  that 
they  could  do  without.  Joseph,  terrified  by  these  plans,  went 
to  call  on  Gerard,  and  explained  the  situation ;  the  great  painter 
obtained  a  commission  for  him  from  the  Master  of  the 
Boyal  Household  to  make  two  copies  of  the  portrait  of  Louis 
XVIII.,  at  the  price  of  five  hundred  francs  each.  Though 
little  addicted  to  liberality,  Gros  took  his  pupil  to  a  shop 
where  Joseph  got  all  the  necessary  materials.  But  the  thou  - 
sand francs  were  to  be  paid  only  on  delivery.  Joseph  set  to 
work  and  painted  four  little  pictures  in  ten  days;  these  hft 
sold  to  the  dealers,  and  brought  his  mother  a  thousand  francs ; 
she  could  meet  the  bill.  A  week  later,  another  letter  from  the 
Colonel  announced  to  his  mother  that  he  was  sailing  on  board 
a  packet,  the  captain  having  accepted  his  promise  to  pay, 
Philippe  added  that  he  would  need  at  least  a  thousand  francs 
more  on  disembarking  at  le  Havre. 

"Well,"  said  Joseph  to  his  mother,  "I  shall  have  finished 
the  copies ;  you  can  take  him  the  thousand  francs." 

"Dear  Joseph !"  cried  Agathe,  embracing  him  with  tears. 
"Then  you  really  love  that  poor  persecuted  boy?  He  is  our 
glory  and  all  our  hope !  So  young,  so  brave,  and  so  unfortu- 
nate !  Everything  is  against  him;  let  us  all  three  at  any  rate 
be  on  his  side." 

"Painting  is  good  for  something  after  all,  you  see,"  cvied 
Joseph,  happy  at  having  at  last  won  his  mother's  permission 
to  become  a  great  artist. 

Madame  Bridau  flew  to  meet  her  beloved  son.  Colonel 
Philippe.    At  le  Havre  she  walked  every  day  to  a  point  be- 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


37 


yond  the  round  tower  built  by  Francis  I.,  every  day  imagin- 
ing fresh  and  dreadful  alarms  as  she  watched  for  the  Ameri- 
can packet.  None  but  mothers  know  how  this  kind  of  tor- 
ment revives  their  first  motherhood.  The  vessel  came  in  one 
fine  morning  in  October  1819,  without  damage,  without 
having  met  the  slightest  squall. 

The  air  of  his  native  land,  and  the  sight  of  his  mother^ 
must  always  have  some  effect,  even  on  the  coarsest  soul, 
especially  after  an  exile  full  of  disasters.  Philippe  gave  way 
to  an  effusiveness  of  feeling  which  made  Agathe  think  to  her- 
self, "How  much  this  one  loves  me  V — Alas  !  the  young  officer 
loved  but  one  creature  in  the  world,  and  that  was  Colonel 
Philippe.  His  ill-fortune  in  Texas,  his  stay  in  New  York — 
a  place  where  speculation  and  self-interest  are  carried  to  the 
highest  pitch,  where  the  coarsest  selfishness  becomes  cyni- 
cism, where  each  man,  living  for  himself  alone,  is  compelled 
to  tread  his  own  path,  where  politeness  does  not 
exist — in  short,  the  smallest  incidents  of  his  expedition  had 
developed  in  Philippe  all  the  bad  tendencies  of  the  disbanded 
trooper.  He  was  a  bully,  a  drinker,  a  smoker,  assert- 
ive and  rude;  penury  and  privations  had  deteriorated  him. 
Also,  the  Colonel  considered  himself  persecuted;  the  effect 
of  this  belief  on  a  man  of  low  intelligence  is  to  make 
him  an  intolerant  persecutor.  To  Philippe  the  whole  uni- 
verse began  at  his  head  and  ended  at  his  feet;  the  sun  shone 
for  him  alone.  To  crown  all,  his  experience  in  New  York, 
interpreted  by  a  man  of  action,  had  robbed  him  of  every  moral 
scruple. 

With  beings  of  his  stamp  there  are  but  two  modes  of  ex- 
istence :  they  are  believers,  or  they  are  unbelievers ;  they  have 
all  the  virtues  of  an  honest  man,  or  they  are  carried  away  by 
every  pressure  of  necessity ;  then  they  get  into  a  habit  of  re- 
garding their  smallest  interests,  and  every  passing  wish 
prompted  by  passion,  as  a  necessity.  On  this  plan  a  man  may 
go  far. 

In  appearance,  but  in  appearance  only,  the  Colonel  had 
preserved  the  blunt,  frank,  easy-going  manner  of  a  soldier. 
Thus  he  was  a  very  dangerous  man;  he  seemed  as  guileless 


88 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


as  a  child ;  but  having  no  one  to  think  of  but  himself,  he  never 
did  anything  without  carefully  considering  what  he  had  best 
do,  much  as  a  wily  prosecutor  considers  every  twist  and  turn 
of  a  tricky  rogue.  Words  cost  him  nothing,  and  he  would 
give  joii  as  many  as  you  chose  to  believe.  If  a  man  should, 
unluckily,  be  so  rash  as  to  take  exception  to  the  explanations 
by  which  he  would  justify  the  discrepancies  between  his  con- 
duct and  his  speech,  the  Colonel,  who  was  a  first-rate  shot, 
^\  ho  could  challenge  the  m.ost  skilful  swordsman,  and  who  had 
the  cool  head  of  a  man  to  whom  life  is  a  matter  of  indifference, 
was  ready  to  demand  satisfaction  for  the  first  sharp  word. 
Pending  that,  he  looked  like  a  man  so  ready  for  blows  as  to 
make  compromise  impossible.  His  tall  figure  had  become 
burly,  his  face  was  tanned  during  his  stay  in  Texas,  and  he 
had  caught  the  abrupt  speech  and  peremptory  tone  of  a  man 
who  means  to  be  respected  in  the  midst  of  the  populace  of 
New  York. 

Such  as  he  was,  plainly  dressed,  and  his  frame  evidently 
hardened  by  his  recent  hard  life,  Philippe  was  a  hero  in  his 
poor  mother's  eyes ;  but  he  had,  in  fact,  become  what  the  com- 
mon people  plainly  describe  as  "a  bad  lot.'' 

Madame  Bridau,  startled  by  her  darling  son's  destitute 
condition,  had  a  complete  outfit  made  for  him  at  le  Havre ;  as 
she  listened  to  the  tale  of  his  woes,  she  had  not  the  heart  to 
check  his  eating,  drinking,  and  amusing  himself,  as  a  man 
was  bound  to  drink  and  enjoy  himself  on  his  return  from  the 
Champ  d'Asile. 

The  occupation  of  Texas  by  the  remnant  of  the  Grand 
Army  was  no  doubt  a  splendid  idea;  but  it  was  the  men  that 
were  found  wanting  rather  than  the  conditions,  since  Texas 
is  now  a  Eepublican  state  of  great  promise.  The  experiment 
made  under  the  Restoration  proved  emphatically  that  the 
interests  of  the  Liberals  were  purely  selfish,  and  in  no  sense 
national;  aiming  at  power,  and  at  nothing  else.  Neither  the 
material,  the  place,  the  idea,  nor  the  goodwill  was  lacking, 
only  the  money  and  the  support  of  that  hypocritical  party; 
they  had  vast  sums  at  their  disposal,  and  would  give  nothing 
when  the  reinstatement  of  an  Emnire  was  at  stake. 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTAPJJSHMENT 


Housewives  of  Agathe's  stamp  have  the  good  sense  which 
enables  them  to  see  through  such  political  frauds.  The  hap- 
less mother  saw  the  truth  as  she  heard  her  son's  story;  for, 
during  his  absence,  her  interest  in  the  exile  had  led  her  to 
listen  to  the  pompous  announcements  of  the  Constitutional 
newspapers,  and  to  watch  the  vicissitudes  of  the  braggart 
subscription,  which  yielded  scarcely  a  hundred  and  fifty  thou- 
sand francs  when  five  or  six  millions  were  needed.  The  lead- 
ers of  the  Liberal  party  very  soon  discovered  that  they  were, 
in  fact,  doing  the  job  for  Louis  XVTII.  by  sending  away  the 
glorious  remnant  of  the  French  army,  and  they  abandoned 
to  their  fate  the  most  devoted  and  ardent  enthusiasts,  who 
tvere  the  first  to  go.  Agathe  never  was  able  to  explain  to 
Philippe  that  he  had  been  the  prey  of  fraud  rather  than  of 
persecution.  In  her  belief  in  her  idol  she  accused  herself  of 
stupidity,  and  lamented  the  disasters  of  the  times  which  had 
fallen  on  Philippe. 

And  it  was  true  that,  until  now,  in  all  his  misfortunes  he 
had  been  less  a  sinner  than  a  victim  to  his  fine  temper  and 
energy,  to  the  Emperor's  overthrow,  to  the  duplicity  of  the 
Liberals  and  the  vindictiveness  of  the  Bourbons  towards  the 
Bonapartists.  All  through  the  week  they  spent  at  le  Havre — 
a  horribly  expensive  week — she  never  dared  hint  that  he 
should  become  reconciled  to  the  King's  Government  and  call 
at  the  War  Office ;  she  had  enough  to  do  to  get  him  away  from 
le  Havre,  where  living  is  very  dear,  and  back  to  Paris,  when 
she  had  no  money  left  but  just  enough  for  the  journey.  Mad- 
ame Descoings  and  Joseph,  who  met  them  as  they  alighted 
from  the  coach  in  the  yard  of  the  Messageries  Royales,  were 
shocked  at  the  change  in  Agathe. 

"Your  mother  has  grown  ten  years  older  in  two  months,'' 
?aid  the  old  lady  to  Joseph,  in  the  midst  of  the  embracing, 
while  their  trunks  were  taken  down. 

"Well,  Granny  Descoings,  and  how  are  you  ?"  was  Philippe's 
tender  greeting  to  the  grocer's  widow,  whom  Joseph  atfection- 
ately  addressed  as  Maman  Descoings. 

"We  have  no  money  to  pay  for  the  cab,"  said  Agathe 
piteously. 


40 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


''But  I  have,"  replied  the  young  painter.  "My  brother 
is  splendidly  burnt  V  he  exclaimed,  looking  at  Philippe. 

"Yes,  I  am  colored  like  a  pipe.  But  you  have  not  altered, 
little  man/^ 

Joseph,  now  one-and- twenty,  and  much  appreciated  by  a 
few  friends  who  had  stood  by  him  in  evil  days,  felt  his 
powers,  and  was  conscious  of  his  talent.  In  a  little  society 
of  young  men  devoted  to  science,  letters,  politics,  and  philo- 
sophy, he  represented  painting;  he  was  hurt  by  his  brother's 
contemptuous  tone,  emphasized  by  an  incivility;  Philippe 
pulled  his  ear  as  if  he  were  a  mere  child.  Agathe  observed 
the  sort  of  chill  which  came  over  Madame  Descoings  and 
Joseph  after  their  first  affectionate  warmth,  but  she  set  mat- 
ters right  by  speaking  of  the  privations  endured  by  Philippe 
during  his  exile. 

Madame  Descoings,  anxious  to  make  a  high  day  in  honor  of 
the  return  of  the  prodigal  son,  as  she  called  him  in  her  owji 
mind,  had  prepared  the  best  of  dinners,  to  which  she  had  in  - 
vited old  Claparon  and  the  elder  Desroches.  All  the  friends, 
of  the  family  were  invited,  and  came  in  the  evening.  Josepli 
had  asked  Leon  Giraud,  d'Arthez,  Michel  Chrestien,  Fulgence 
Kidal,  and  Bianchon,  his  friends  of  the  coterie.  Madame 
Descoings  had  told  Bixiou — her  stepson,  as  she  called  him— 
that  the  young  people  would  play  a  game  of  ecarte.  Tho 
younger  Desroches,  sternly  forced  by  his  father  to  become  a 
law-student,  also  joined  the  party.  Du  Bruel,  Claparon,  Des- 
roches, and  the  Abbe  Loraux  stared  at  the  traveler,  frightened 
by  his  coarse  face  and  manners,  his  voice  husky  with  dram- 
drinking,  his  vulgar  language  and  looks.  While  Joseph  was 
setting  out  the  card-tables,  her  most  intimate  friends  gathered 
round  Agathe  and  asked  her : 

"What  do  you  intend  to  do  with  Philippe  ?" 

"I  do  not  know,''  said  she.  "But  he  is  still  determined  not 
to  serve  under  the  Bourbons." 

"It  is  very  difficult  to  find  him  a  place  in  France.  If  he 
will  not  re-enter  the  army,  he  will  not  easily  find  a  pigeon- 
hole ready  for  him  in  the  civil  service,"  said  old  du  Bruel. 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT  41 


^^And  only  to  listen  to  him  is  enough  to  prove  thai  he  will 
never  make  a  fortune,  like  my  son,  by  writing  plays." 

Agathe's  glance  in  reply  was  enough  to  make  them  all  un- 
derstand how  anxious  she  was  as  to  Philippe's  prospects;  and 
as  neither  of  her  friends  had  any  suggestions  to  offer,  they  all 
kept  silence.  The  exile,  young  Desroches,  and  Bixiou  were 
playing,  ecarte,  a  game  that  was  then  the  rage. 

"Maman  Descoings,  my  brother  has  no  money  to  play 
with,"  said  Joseph,  in  the  kind  and  staunch  old  lady's  ear. 

The  gambler  in  the  lottery  went  to  fetch  twenty  francs,  and 
gave  them  to  the  artist,  who  quietly  slipped  them  into  his 
brother's  hand. 

All  the  guests  arrived.  Two  tables  were  set  for  boston, 
and  the  party  grew  lively,  Philippe  proved  but  a  sorry 
player.  After  winning  a  good  deal  at  first,  he  lost,  till,  by 
eleven  o'clock,  he  owed  fifty  francs  to  young  Desroches  and 
Bixiou.  The  noise  and  disputes  over  the  ecarte  more  than 
once  disturbed  the  peaceful  boston  players,  and  they  kept 
covert  watch  over  Philippe.  The  Colonel  gave  evidence  of 
isuch  a  bad  spirit  that,  in  his  last  wrangle  with  young  Des- 
toches — ^who  was  not  very  good-tempered  either — the  elder 
Desroches,  though  his  son  was  in  the  right,  pronounced 
against  him,  and  desired  him  to  play  no  more.  Madame  Des- 
coings did  the  same  with  her  grandson,  who  had  begun  firing 
such  keen  witticisms  that  Philippe  did  not  understand  them ; 
atill,  they  might  have  led  this  caustic  satirist  into  danger  if 
by  chance  one  of  his  barbed  arrows  had  pierced  the  Colonel's 
dense  intelligence. 

"You  must  be  tired,'^  said  Agathe  to  Philippe.  *^^Come  to 
your  room." 

"Traveling  forms  the  young !"  said  Bixiou,  smiling,  when 
Agathe  and  the  Colonel  were  out  of  the  room. 

Joseph,  who  rose  with  the  dawn  and  went  early  to  rest,  did 
not  see  the  evening  out.  Next  morning  Agathe  and  her 
friend,  as  they  laid  breakfast  in  the  front  room,  could  not  help 
thinking  that  evening  company  would  cost  them  very  dear  if 
Philippe  went  on  playing  "that  game,"  as  Madame  Des- 


42  A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 

coings  phrased  it.  The  old  woman,  now  seventy-six  years  of 
age^  proposed  to  sell  her  furniture,  to  give  up  her  rooms  on  the 
second  floor  to  the  landlord — who  was  most  willing  to  have 
them — to  take  Agathe's  drawing-room  for  her  bedroom,  and  • 
to  use  the  other  room  as  a  sitting  and  dining-room  in  one.  In 
this  way  they  could  save  seven  hundred  francs  a  year.  This 
retrenchment  would  enable  them  to  allow  Philippe  fifty  francs 
a  month  while  he  was  looking  out  for  something  to  do, 
Agathe  accepted  the  sacrifice. 

When  the  Colonel  came  dov»^n,  after  his  mother  had  asked 
him  if  he  had  been  comfortable  in  his  little  room,  the  two 
widows  laid  the  state  of  affiairs  before  him.  Madame  Des- 
coings  and  Agathe,  by  combining  their  incomes,  had  five  thou- 
sand three  hundred  francs  a  year,  of  which  four  thousand 
were  Madame  Descoings'  annuity.  The  old  lady  allowed 
Bixiou  six  hundred  francs  a  year — for  the  last  six  months 
she  had  owned  him  to  be  her  grandson — and  six  hundred  to 
Joseph;  the  rest,  with  Agathe's  income,  was  spent  in  house- 
keeping generally.    All  their  savings  were  gone. 

'^'Be  quite  easy,^^  said  the  Colonel;  "I  will  look  out  for 
some  appointment.  I  will  cost  you  nothing.  All  I  want  is  a 
crust  and  a  crib  for  the  present.^' 

Agathe  kissed  her  son,  and  his  old  friend  slipped  a  hundred  , 
francs  into  his  hand  to  pay  the  gambling  debt  of  the  evening 
before. 

Within  ten  days  the  sale  of  the  furniture,  the  giving  up  of 
the  rooms,  and  the  necessary  changes  in  Agathe's  dwelling 
were  affected  with  the  rapidity  to  be  seen  only  in  Paris.  Dur- 
ing these  ten  days  Philippe  regularly  made  himself  scarce 
after  breakfast,  came  in  to  dinner,  went  out  in  the  evening, 
and  did  not  come  home  to  bed  till  midnight. 

This  was  the  plan  of  life  into  which  the  soldier  fell  almost 
mechanically,  and  which  became  a  rooted  habit:  he  had  his 
boots  blacked  on  the  Pont  Neuf  for  the  two  sous  he  would 
otherwise  have  spent  in  crossing  by  the  Pont  des  Arts  to  the 
Palais  Royal,  where,  he  took  two  liqueur  ghisses  of  brandy 
while  reading  the  papers,  an  occupation  absorbing  him  till 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


48 


mid-day;  at  about  noon  he  made  his  way  by  the  Kue  Vi- 
vienne  to  the  Cafe  Minerve,  at  that  time  the  headquarters  of 
the  Liberals,  and  there  he  played  billiards  with  some  retired 
fellow-olBcers.  There,  while  he  won  or  lost,  Philippe  always 
got  through  three  or  four  more  glasses  of  various  spirits,  and 
then  smoked  ten  regie  cigars  as  he  wandered  and  lounged 
about  the  streets.  In  the  evening,  after  smoking  a  few  pipes 
at  the  Estaminet  Hollandais,  he  went  up  to  the  gambling 
tables  at  about  ten.  The  waiter  handed  him  a  card  and  a 
pin;  he  consulted  certain  experienced  players  as  to  the  state 
of  the  run  on  red  or  black,  and  staked  ten  francs  at  an  op- 
portune moment,  never  playing  more  than  three  times,  whether 
he  won  or  lost.  When  he  had  won,  as  he  commonly  did, 
he  drank  a  tumbler  of  punch  and  made  his  way  home  to  his 
attic;  but  by  this  time  he  would  be  talking  of  smashing  up 
the  ultras  and  the  bodyguard,  and  sing  on  the  stairs,  "Preserve 
the  Empire  from  its  foes." — His  poor  mother,  as  she  heard 
him,  would  say,  "Philippe  is  in  good  spirits  this  evening," 
and  she  would  go  up  to  give  him  a  kiss,  never  complaining 
of  the  reek  of  punch,  spirits,  and  tobacco. 

"You  ought  to  be  pleased  with  me,  my  dear  mother,"  said 
he  one  day  towards  the  end  of  January.  "I  am  sure  I  lead  the 
most  regular  life !" 

Philippe  had  dined  out  five  times  with  some  old  comrades. 
These  soldiers  had  talked  over  the  state  of  their  affairs,  and 
discussed  the  hopes  they  founded  on  the  building  of  a  sub- 
marine vessel  to  be  employed  to  deliver  the  Emperor.  Among 
the  fellow-officers  he  here  met  again,  Philippe  was  particu- 
larly thick  mth  a  former  captain  of  the  Dragoon  Guard 
named  Giroudeau,  in  whose  company  he  had  first  smelt  gun- 
powder. This  officer  of  Dragoons  was  the  cause  of  Philippe's 
completing  what  Rabelais  calls  the  devil's  outfit,  and  adding 
a  fourth  iniquity  to  his  dram,  his  cigar,  and  his  gambling. 

One  evening,  at  the  beginning  of  February,  Giroudeau  took 
Philippe  after  dinner  to  the  Gaite  Theatre,  to  a  box  sent  to 
a  small  theatrical  paper  belonging  to  his  nephew  Finot,  for 

VOL.  4 — 30 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


whom  the  old  soldier  kept  the  cash-box  and  the  accounts,  ad- 
dressed and  checked  the  papers.  Dressed  after  the  fashion 
of  the  Bonapartist  officers  of  the  Constitutional  opposition,  in 
loose,  long  coats  with  a  square  collar  buttoned  up  to  the  chin, 
hanging  to  their  heels,  and  decorated  with  the  rosette,  armed 
with  a  loaded  cane  hanging  to  the  wrist  by  a  plaited  leather 
3ord,  the  two  troopers  had  treated  themselves  to  a  skinful,  as 
they  expressed  it,  and  opened  their  hearts  to  each  other  as 
they  went  into  the  box.  Through  the  haze  of  a  considerable 
number  of  bottles  of  wine  and  "nips"  of  sundry  liqueurs, 
Giroudeau  pointed  out  to  Philippe  a  plump  and  nimble  little 
damsel  on  the  stage,  known  as  Florentine,  whose  favors  and 
affections,  as  well  as  the  box,  were  his  through  the  all-pow- 
erful influence  of  the  paper. 

"But,  dear  me,"  said  Philippe,  "how  far  does  she  carry  her 
favors  for  an  old  dappled-gray  trooper  like  you?" 

"Praise  the  Lord,  I  have  never  forgotten  the  old  principles 
of  our  glorious  uniform!"  said  Giroudeau.  "I  never  spent 
two  farthings  on  a  woman." 

"What  next  ?"  cried  Philippe,  with  a  finger  to  his  left  eye. 

"Quite  true,"  said  Giroudeau.  "But,  between  ourselves, 
ilhe  paper  has  something  to  do  with  it.  To-morrow  you  will 
^(se,  in  two  lines,  the  management  will  be  advised  to  give 
Jtlademoiselle  Florentine  a  pas  seul. — On  my  word,  my  dear 
boy,  I  am  very  happy,"  said  Giroudeau. 

"W ell,"  thought  Philippe,  "if  this  venerable  Giroudeau,  in 
spite  of  a  skull  as  bare  as  3^our  knee,  his  eight-and-forty  years, 
his  corporation,  his  face  like  a  wine-grower,  and  his  nose  like 
a  potato,  can  be  sweetheart  to  a  dancer,  I  ought  to  be  the  man 
for  the  first  actress  in  Paris. — Where  are  such  articles  to  be 
had?"  he  asked  Giroudeau. 

"I  will  take  you  this  evening  to  see  Florentine's  humble 
home.  Though  my  Dulcinea  gets  but  fifty  francs  a  month 
from  the  theatre,  thanks  to  a  retired  silk  mercer  named 
Cardot,  who  allows  her  five  hundred  francs  a  month,  she  is  not 
so  badly  set  up." 

"Why — what  ?"  said  Philippe,  jealous. 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


45 


"Pooh said  Giroudcau.   "True  love  is  blind." 

After  the  play  Giroudeau  took  Philippe  to  see  Mademoi- 
selle Florentine,  who  lived  in  the  Rue  de  Crussol,  a  stone's- 
throw  from  the  theatre. 

"We  must  behave/'  said  Giroudeau;  "Florentine  has  her 
mother  with  her.  As  you  may  suppose,  I  cannot  afford  to 
allow  her  one,  and  the  good  woman  really  is  her  mother.  The 
woman  was  a  doorkeeper,  but  she  does  not  lack  brains,  and 
her  name  is  Cabirolle.  Call  her  madame;  she  is  particular 
about  that." 

Florentine  had  at  her  house  that  evening  a  friend  of  hers, 
a  certain  Marie  Godeschal,  as  lovely  as  an  angel,  as  cold  as  a 
ballet-dancer,  and  a  pupil  of  Vestris,  who  promised  her  the 
highest  Terpsichorean  distinctions.  Mademoiselle  Godeschal, 
who  was  anxious  to  come  out  at  the  Panorama-dramatique, 
under  the  name  of  Mariette,  counted  on  the  patronage  of  a 
First  Groom  of  the  Chambers,  to  whom  Vestris  had  long 
promised  to  present  her.  Vestris,  as  yet  still  in  full  vigor, 
did  not  think  his  pupil  sufficiently  advanced.  Marie  Gode- 
schal was  ambitious,  and  she  made  her  assumed  name  of, 
Mariette  famous;  but  her  ambition  was  praiseworthy.  She 
had  a  brother,  a  clerk  in  Derville  the  lav/yer's  office.  Orphans 
and  poor,  but  loving  each  other  truly,  the  brother  and  sister 
had  seen  life  as  it  is  in  Paris ;  he  wished  to  become  an  attorney 
so  as  to  provide  for  his  sister;  she  determined  in  cold  blood 
to  be  a  dancer,  and  to  avail  herself  of  her  beauty  as  well 
as  of  her  nimble  legs  to  buy  a  connection  for  her  brother. 
Apart  from  their  affection  for  each  other,  from  their  interests 
and  their  life  together,  everything  else  was  to  them,  as  to  the 
ancient  Romans  and  the  Hebrews,  barbarian,  foreign,  and 
inimical.  This  beautiful  affection,  which  nothing  could  ever 
change,  explained  Mariette's  life  to  those  who  knew  her  well. 

The  brother  and  sister  lived  at  this  time  on  the  eighth  floor 
of  a  house  in  the  Vieille  Rue  du  Temple.  Mariette  had  begun 
learning  at  the  age  of  ten,  and  had  now  seen  sixteen  summers. 
Alas  !  for  lack  of  a  little  dress  her  dainty  beauty,  hidden  under 
an  Angola  shawl,  perched  on  iron  pattens,  dressed  in  cotton 


46 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


print,  and  only  moderately  neat,  could  never  be  suspected  by 
any  one  but  the  Paris  lounger  in  pursuit  of  grisettes  and  on 
the  track  of  beauty  under  a  cloud. 

Philippe  fell  in  love  with  Mariette.  What  Mariette  found 
in  Philippe  was  an  officer  of  the  Dragoon  Guards  and  of  the 
Emperor^s  staff,  a  young  man  of  seven-and-twenty,  and  the 
delight  of  proving  herself  superior  to  Florentine  by  the  evi- 
dent superiority  of  Philippe  to  Giroudeau.  Both  Florentine 
and  Giroudeau — he  to  give  his  comrade  pleasure,  and  she 
to  procure  a  protector  for  her  friend — urged  Mariette  and 
Philippe  to  a  ^Vater-color  marriage."  The  Parisian  expres- 
sion d  la  detrempe  is  equivalent  to  the  words  "morgantic  mar- 
riage'^ applied,  to  kings  and  queens. 

Philippe,  as  they  went  out,  explained  to  Giroudeau  how 
poor  he  was. 

"I  will  mention  you  to  my  nephew,  Finot,"  said  Giroudeau. 
^^Look  here,  Philippe,  this  is  the  day  of  black  coats  and  fine 
words;  we  must  knock  under.  The  inkstand  is  all  powerful 
now.  Ink  takes  the  place  of  gunpowder,  and  words  are  used  in- 
stead of  shot.  After  all,  these  little  vermin  of  editors  are  very 
ingenious,  and  not  bad  fellows.  Come  to  see  me  to-morrow  at 
the  office;  by  that  time  I  will  have  spoken  two  words  about 
you  to  my  nephew.  Before  long  you  will  have  something  to 
do  on  some  newspaper.  Mariette,  who  will  have  you  now  be- 
cause she  has  nothing  else — make  no  mistake  on  that  point — 
no  engagement,  no  hope  of  coming  out,  and  whom  I  told  that, 
like  me,  you  were  going  in  for  journalism — Mariette  will 
prove  that  she  loves  you  for  yourself,  and  you  will  believe  her ! 
Do  as  I  do ;  keep  her  from  rising  as  long  as  you  can.  I  was 
so  desperately  in  love  that  as  soon  as  Florentine  wanted  to 
dance  a  pas  seul,  I  begged  Finot  to  write  her  up ;  but  says  my 
nephew  to  me,  ^She  is  clever,  is  she  not?  Well,  the  day  she 
first  dances  a  step  of  her  own  she  will  show  you  across  the 
doorstep.'  That's  Finot  all  over.  Oh,  you  will  find  him  a 
wide-awake  chap." 

Next  day,  at  about  four  o'clock,  Philippe  made  his  way  to 
the  Rue  du  Sentier,  and  up  to  a  small  room  on  the  entresol. 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


47 


where  he  found  Giroudeau  shut  up  like  a  wild  beast  in  a  sort 
of  hen-coop  with  a  wicket;  it  contained  a  little  stove,  a  little 
table,  two  little  chairs,  and  some  little  billets  for  the  fire.  The 
whole  apparatus  was  dignified  by  these  magical  words,  Office 
for  Subscribers,  painted  on  the  outside  door  in  black  letters, 
and  the  word  Cashier  in  running  hand  on  a  board  hung  on  the 
bars  of  the  cage.  Along  the  wall  opposite  the  old  trooper's 
coop  was  a  bench,  on  which  an  old  soldier  was  eating  a  snack ; 
he  had  lost  an  arm,  and  Giroudeau  addressed  him  as  Colo- 
quinte  (Colocynth),  by  reason,  no  doubt,  of  the  Egyptian  hue 
of  his  face. 

^^Sweetly  pretty  said  Philippe,  looking  about  him.  "What 
business  have  you  here — you  who  rode  in  poor  Colonel 
Chabert's  charge  at  Eylau  ?  In  the  devil's  name !  In  all 
the  devils'  names  !    A  superior  officer    .    .  ." 

"Why,  yes !  Eoo-ty  too-too !  A  superior  officer  signing 
receipts  in  a  newspaper  office,"  said  Giroudeau,  settling  his 
black  silk  skull-cap.  "And  what  is  more,  I  am  the  respon- 
sible editor  of  that  rhodomontade,"  and  he  pointed  to  the 
paper. 

"And  I,  who  once  went  to  Egypt,  now  go  to  the  Stamp 
Office,"  said  the  pensioner. 

"Silence,  Coloquinte,"  said  Giroudeau.  "You  are  in  the 
presence  of  a  brave  man  who  carried  the  Emperor's  orders  at 
the  battle  of  Montmirail!" 

"Pre-sent  arms !"  cried  Coloquinte.  "I  lost  my  missing 
arm  there." 

"Coloquinte,  mind  the  shop;  I  am  going  upstairs  to  my 
nephew." 

The  two  soldiers  went  up  to  the  fourth  floor,  to  an  attic  at 
the  end  of  a  passage,  and  found  a  young  man  with  cold,  color- 
less eyes  stretched  on  a  shabby  sofa.  The  civilian  did  not 
disturb  himself,  though  he  offered  cigars  to  his  uncle  and  his 
uncle's  friend. 

"My  dear  fellow,"  said  Giroudeau,  in  a  meek  and  gentle 
voice,  "here  is  the  valiant  Major  of  whom  I  spoke." 

'^hat  then?"  saiii  Finot.  looking  Philippe  from  head  to 


48 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


foot,  while  the  officer  lost  all  his  spirit,  like  Giroiideau,  in  the 
presence  of  the  diplomate  of  the  press. 

"My  dear  boy,"  said  Giroudeau,  trying  to  play  the  uncle, 
"the  Colonel  has  just  come  from  Texas/' 

"Oh!  you  were  caught  for  Texas  and  the  Champ  d'Asile? 
You  were  very  young,  too,  to  turn  soldier-ploughman." 

The  sting  of  this  witticism  can  be  appreciated  only  by  those 
who  can  remember  the  flood  of  prints,  screens,  clocks,  bronzes, 
and  casts  to  which  the  idea  of  the  soldier-ploughm.an  gave  rise, 
as  a  great  allegory  of  the  fate  of  Napoleon  and  his  veterans, 
which  at  last  found  vent  in  various  satirical  songs.  The  idea 
was  worth  a  million  at  least;  you  may  still  see  the  soldier- 
ploughman  on  wall-papers  in  the  depths  of  the  provinces. 

If  this  young  man  had  not  been  Giroudeau's  nephew, 
Philippe  would  have  smacked  his  cheeks. 

"Yes,  I  was  caught  for  it ;  and  I  lost  tv/elve  thousand  francs 
and  my  time,"  replied  he,  trying  to  force  a  smile. 

"And  you  still  love  the  Emperor  ?" 

"He  is  my  God !"  replied  Philippe  Bridau. 

"You  are  a  Liberal?" 

"I  shall  always  side  with  the  Constitutional  Oppoidtion. 
Oh,  Foy !  Manuel !  Laffitte !  There  are  men  for  you. 
They  will  rid  us  of  these  wretches  who  have  sneaked  in  at  the 
heels  of  the  foreigners." 

"Well,  then,"  said  Finot  coldly,  "you  must  take  the  benefit 
of  your  misfortunes,  for  you  are  a  victim  to  the  Liberals,  my 
good  fellow.  Remain  a  Liberal  if  you  are  set  on  your  opin- 
ions; but  threaten  the  Liberals  with  divulging  the  madness 
of  the  Texas  scheme.  You  never  got  a  farthing  of  the 
national  subscription,  I  suppose?  Well,  then,  you  are  in  a 
splendid  position :  ask  for  the  accounts  of  the  fund.  This  is 
what  will  happen:  A  fresh  newspaper  is  now  being  started 
by  the  Opposition  under  the  auspices  of  the  deputies  of  the 
Left;  you  will  be  made  cashier  witli  a  thousand  crowns  a 
year,  a  place  for  life.  You  have  only  to  find  twenty  thou- 
sand francs  as  security;  get  them,  and  in  a  week  you  will 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


4» 


have  a  berth.  I  will  advise  them  to  silence  you  by  making 
them  offer  you  the  place — but  cry  out^  and  cry  loud  V 

Giroudeau  allowed  Philippe  to  go  down  a  few  steps  before 
him,  pouring  out  thanks  as  he  went,  and  said  to  his  nephew : 
"Well,  you  are  a  pretty  fellow,  you  are!  You  let  me  hang 
on  here  with  twelve  hundred  francs  a  year  " 

"The  paper  will  not  live  a  year,"  replied  Finot.  "I  have 
something  better  for  you." 

"By  heaven !"  said  PhiMppe  to  Giroudeau,  "that  nephew  of 
yours  is  no  fool.  I  had  never  thought  of  taking  the  benefit  of 
my  position,  as  he  puts  it." 

That  evening,  at  the  Cafe  Lemblin  and  the  Cafe  Minerve, 
Colonel  Philippe  broke  out  in  abuse  of  the  Liberals  who  sent 
a  man  to  Texas,  who  talked  gammon  about  the  soldier-plough- 
man, who  left  brave  m.en  to  starve  in  misery  after  squeezino- 
twenty  thousand  francs  out  of  them,  and  driving  them  for 
two  years  from  pillar  to  post. 

"I  mean  to  ask  for  an  account  of  the  money  subscribed  for 
the  Champ  d'Asile,"  he  said  to  one  of  the  regular  customen'. 
at  the  Cafe  Minerve,  who  repeated  it  to  the  journalists  of  the. 
Left. 

Philippe  did  not  go  home  to  the  Rue  Mazarine;  he  went 
to  tell  Mariette  that  he  was  about  to  be  ero.ployed  on  a  paper 
with  ten  thousand  subscribers,  in  which  her  Terpsichoreaii 
ambitions  should  be  ardently  supported.  Agathe  and  Mad 
ame  Descoings  sat  up  for  him.  in  an  agony  of  terror,  for  the 
Due  de  Berry  had  that  moment  been  assassinated. 

The  Colonel  walked  in  next  day,  a  few  minutes  after  break- 
fast. When  his  mother  expressed  uneasiness  at  his  absence, 
he  flew  into  a  passion,  and  asked  if  he  were  of  age  or  no. 

"By  heaven !  I  come  in  with  good  news,  and  you  all  look  as 
solemn  as  hearses.  The  Due  de  Berry  is  dead !  Well,  so 
much  the  better!  There  is  one  less  of  them.. — I  am  going  to 
be  cashier  of  a  newspaper  office,  with  a  thousand  crowns  a 
year,  so  you  are  free  from  all  worry  so  far  as  I  am  concerned." 

"Is  it  possible?"  cried  Agathe. 

"Yes,  if  you  can  stand  surety  for  twenty  thousand  francs- 


80 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


You  have  only  to  deposit  your  securities  for  thirteen  hundred 
francs  a  year,  and  you  will  draw  your  half-yearly  dividends 
all  the  same." 

The  two  widows,  who  for  two  months  past  had  been  killing 
themselves  with  wondering  what  Philippe  was  doing,  and  how 
to  find  him  employment,  were  so  delighted  at  his  prospects 
that  they  thought  no  more  of  the  various  difficulties  of  the 
hour.  In  the  evening  old  du  Bruel,  Claparon,  who  was  a 
dying  man,  and  the  inflexible  Desroches  senior — the  three 
Sages  of  Greece — were  unanimous.  They  advised  the  widow 
to  stand  surety  for  her  son.  The  paper  having  been  started, 
most  fortunately,  before  the  murder  of  the  Due  de  Berry, 
escaped  the  blow  struck  at  the  press  by  M.  Decaze.  The 
widow  Bridau's  State  securities  for  thirteen  hundred  francs 
of  dividends  were  deposited  as  a  pledge  for  Philippe,  and  he 
was  appointed  cashier.  This  good  son  then  promised  to  pay 
the  widows  a  hundred  francs  a  month  for  his  board  and  lodg- 
ing, and  was  regarded  as  the  best  of  good  boys.  Those  who 
had  thought  ill  of  him  congratulated  Agathe. 

"We  judged  him  wrongly,"  they  said. 

Poor  Joseph,  not  to  be  left  in  the  lurch,  tried  to  keep  him- 
self, and  succeeded. 

At  the  end  of  three  months,  the  Colonel — who  ate  and 
drank  for  four,  who  was  very  particular,  and,  under  the  pre- 
text of  his  paying,  led  the  two  widows  into  expensive  living — 
had  not  contributed  a  farthing.  Neither  his  mother  nor 
Madame  Descoings  would  remind  him  of  his  promise,  out  of 
delicate  feeling.  The  year  went  by,  and  not  one  of  the  crown 
pieces,  which  Leon  Gozlan  picturesquely  calls  a  tiger  with  five 
claws,  had  passed  from  Philippe's  pocket  to  the  housekeeping. 
On  this  point,  to  be  sure,  the  Colonel  had  silenced  his  scruples 
uf  conscience :  he  rarely  dined  at  home. 

"And,  after  all,  he  is  happy,"  said  his  mother.  "He  is  easy, 
lie  has  an  appointment." 

Through  the  influence  of  the  theatrical  articles,  written  by 
Vernou,  a  friend  of  Bixiou's,  of  Finot's,  and  Giroudeau's, 


A  BAiJllELOirS  ESTABLISHMENT  51. 

Mahette  came  out;  not  indeed  at  the  Panorama- dramatique, 
but  at  the  Porte  Saint-Martin,  where  she  was  a  success  even 
by  the  side  of  Begrand.  Among  the  directors  of  that  theatre 
there  was  just  then  a  wealthy  and  luxurious  general,  who, 
being  in  love  with  an  actress,  had  become  an  impresario  for 
her  sake.  There  are  ahvays  in  Paris  men  in  love  with  some 
actress,  dancer,  or  singer,  who  make  themselves  theatrical 
managers  for  love's  sake.  This  general  knew  Philippe  and 
Giroudeau.  By  the  help  of  the  two  newspapers,  Finot's  and 
Phihppe's,  Mariette's  debut  was  arranged  by  the  three  officers, 
with  all  the  greater  ease  because,  as  it  would  seem,  such 
passions  are  always  reciprocally  helpful  in  matters  of  folly. 

Bixiou,  ever  mischievous,  had  soon  told  his  grandmother 
and  the  pious  Agathe  that  Philippe  the  cashier,  the  bravest 
of  the  brave,  was  the  lover  of  Mariette  the  famous  dancer  at 
the  Porte  Saint-Martin.  The  stale  news  fell  like  a  thunder- 
clap on  the  two  widows.  In  the  first  place,  Agathe's  religious 
sentiments  made  her  look  on  the  women  of  the  stage  as  brands 
of  hell,  and  then  they  both  believed  that  such  women  ate  gold, 
drank  pearls,  and  devoured  the  finest  fortunes. 

^" Why said  J oseph  to  his  mother,  "do  you  suppose  that 
Philippe  would  be  such  a  fool  as  to  give  any  money  to 
Mariette  ?    Such  women  only  ruin  rich  men." 

"There  is  a  talk  already  of  securing  Mariette  at  the  Opera- 
house,"  said  Bixiou.  "But  don't  be  alarmed,  Madame 
Bridau;  the  corps  diplomatique  haunts  the  Porte  Saint- 
Martin,  and  that  handsome  girl  will  soon  throw  over  your  son. 
They  say  there  is  an  ambassador  who  is  desperately  in  love 
with  Mariette. — There  is  some  other  news.  Old  Claparon  is 
dead,  and  is  to  be  buried  to-morrow;  and  his  son,  who  is  a 
banker,  and  rolling  in  gold  and  silver,  has  ordered  a  third- 
class  funeral.  The  fellow  has  no  breeding.  Such  a  thing 
could  not  happen  in  China !" 

Philippe,  with  an  eye  to  profit,  proposed  to  marry  the 
dancer ;  but  being  on  the  eve  of  an  engagement  at  the  Opera, 
Mademoiselle  Godeschal  refused  him,  either  because  she 
guessed  the  Colonel's  motive,  or  because  she  understood  that 
independence  was  necessary  to  her  fortunes. 


52 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


Throughout  the  remainder  of  this  year  Philippe  came  to 
see  his  mother  twice  a  month  at  most.  Where  was  he?  At 
his  office,  at  the  theatre,  or  with  Mariette.  No  light  was  shed 
on  his  proceedings  in  the  home  in  the  Eue  Mazarine. 

Giroudeau,  Finot,  Bixiou,  Vernou,  and  Lousteau  saw  him 
leading  a  life  of  pleasure.  Philippe  was  at  every  party  given 
by  Tullia,  one  of  the  first  singers  at  the  Opera ;  by  Florentine, 
who  took  Mariette's  place  at  the  Porte  Saint-Martin;  by 
Florine  and  Matifat,  Coralie  and  Camusot.  From  four 
o'clock,  when  he  left  his  office,  he  amused  himself  till  mid- 
night; for  there  was  always  some  ploy  arranged  the  day  be- 
fore, a  good  dinner  given  by  somebody,  an  evening  at  cards, 
or  a  supper-party.    Philippe  lived  in  his  element. 

But  this  carnival,  which  lasted  for  eighteen  months,  was 
not  devoid  of  cares.  The  fair  Mariette  on  her  debut  at  the 
Opera,  in  January  1821,  subjugated  one  of  the  most  brilliant 
dukes  of  Louis  XVIII.'s  court.  Philippe  tried  to  hold  his 
own  against  the  duke;  but,  notwithstanding  some  luck  at  the 
gaming-table,  as  the  month  of  April  came  round  his  passion 
compelled  him  to  borrow  from  the  cash-box  of  the  newspaper. 
Iq  the  month  of  May  he  owed  eleven  thousand  francs.  In 
the  course  of  that  fatal  month  Mariette  went  to  London, 
to  make  what  she  might  out  of  the  milords,  while  the 
temporary  Opera-house  was  being  built  in  the  Rue  le  Pel- 
letier.  Philippe  the  ill-starred  still  loved  Mariette  in  spite 
of  her  flagrant  infidelities — such  things  happen;  she,  on  her 
part,  had  never  seen  anything  in  him  but  a  rough  and  brain- 
less soldier,  the  first  rung  of  the  ladder,  on  which  she  did  not 
mean  to  stay  long.  Also,  as  she  had  foreseen  the  day  when 
Philippe  would  have  no  more  money,  the  dancer  had  been 
clever  enough  to  secure  supporters  among  journalists,  which 
made  it  unnecessary  for  her  to  cling  to  Philippe ;  still,  she  felt 
the  gratitude  peculiar  to  women  of  her  stamp  to  the  man  who 
had  been  the  first  to  level  the  obstacles  in  the  dreadful  career 
of  an  actress. 

Philippe,  thus  obliged  to  let  his  terrible  mistress  go  to 
London  without  beinis  able  to  follow  her,  returned  to  his 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


53 


winter  quarters,  to  use  his  own  expression,  and  came  home  to 
his  attic  in  the  Rue  Mazarine;  there  he  made  many  gloomy 
reiiections  as  he  went  to  bed  and  got  up  again.  He  felt  it 
impossible  to  live  otherwise  than  as  he  had  been  living  for 
this  year  past.  The  luxury  of  Mariette's  life,  the  dinners 
and  suppers,  the  evenings  spent  behind  .the  scenes,  the  high 
spirits  of  wits  and  journalists,  the  turmoil  he  had  lived  in, 
and  all  the  flattering  effect  on  his  senses  and  on  his  vanity, — 
this  existence,  which  is  to  be  found  only  in  Paris,  and  which 
offers  some  new  sensation  every  day,  had  become  more  than  a 
habit  to  Philippe ;  it  was  a  necessity,  like  tobacco  and  drams. 
Indeed,  he  plainly  perceived  that  he  could  not  live  without 
this  constant  enjoyment. 

The  idea  of  suicide  passed  through  his  mind,  not  on  account 
of  the  deficit  which  would  be  discovered  in  his  balance,  but  by 
reason  of  the  impossibility  of  being  with  Mariette  and  living 
in  the  atmosphere  of  pleasures  in  which  he  had  wallowed 
for  the  last  twelvemonth.  Full  of  these  gloomy  notions,  ho 
made  his  appearance,  for  the  first  time,  in  his  brother's  studio, 
and  found  Joseph  at  work,  in  a  blue  blouse,  copying  a  picture 
for  a  dealer. 

"So  that  is  the  way  pictures  are  made  said  Philippe  as  an 
opening. 

"No,"'  said  Joseph,  ^^Dut  that  is  the  way  they  are  copied.^^ 
"How  much  do  you  get  for  that 

"Oh,  never  enough.  Two  hundred  and  fifty  francs;  but  I 
study  the  master's  method ;  I  learn  by  it,  I  find  out  the  secrets 
of  the  trade. — There  is  one  of  my  pictures,"  he  went  on, 
pointing  with  the  handle  of  his  brush  to  a  sketch  of  which  the 
paint  was  still  wet. 

"And  how  much  a  year  do  you  pocket  now  ?" 

"Unfortunately,  I  am  as  yet  unknown  excepting  to  the 
painters.  Schinner  is  giving  me  a  helping  hand ;  he  is  to  get 
me  some  work  at  the  chateau  de  Presles,  where  I  am  going  in 
October  to  paint  some  arabesques  and  borders  and  ornaments 
for  the  Comte  de  Serizy,  who  pays  very  well.  With  pot- 
boilers like  this,  dealers'  orders,  I  may  make  eighteen  hundred 


54 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


to  two  thousand  francs  before  long,  all  clear  profit.  But  T 
shall  send  that  picture  in  to  the  next  exhibition ;  if  it  is  liked, 
I  am  a  made  man.    My  friends  think  well  of  it." 

"I  am  no  judge,^^  said  Philippe  in  a  quiet  tone,  which  made 
Joseph  look  up  at  him. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  he  asked,  seeing  his  brother  look 
pale. 

"I  want  to  know  how  long  it  would  take  you  to  paint  my 
portrait." 

"Well,  if  I  worked  at  nothing  else,  and  the  light  were  good, 
I  could  do  it  in  three  or  four  days." 

"That  is  too  long.  I  can  only  give  you  a  day.  My  poor 
mother  is  so  fond  of  me  that  I  should  wish  to  leave  her  my 
likeness.    But  say  no  more  about  it." 

^^hy,  are  you  going  away  again?" 

"Going,  never  to  return,'^  said  Philippe,  with  affected  cheer- 
fulness. 

"Come,  Philippe,  my  dear  fellow,  what  ails  you?  If  it  is 
anything  serious,  I  am  a  man,  and  I  am  not  a  simpleton.  I 
am  preparing  for  a  hard  struggle,  and  if  discretion  is  needed 
I  can  hold  my  tongue." 

"Can  I  rely  upon  it?" 

"On  my  honor." 

"You  will  never  say  a  word  to  any  living  being  ?" 
"Never." 

"Well,  then,  I  am  going  to  blow  my  brains  out.'* 
"What,  are  you  going  to  fight  a  duel  ?" 
"I  am  going  to  kill  myself." 
"Why?" 

"I  have  taken  eleven  thousand  francs  out  of  the  cash-box, 
and  I  must  give  in  my  accounts  to-morrow;  my  deposit- 
money  will  be  diminished  by  half ;  my  poor  mother  will  be 
reduced  to  six  hundred  francs  a  year.  That,  after  all,  is 
nothing;  I  might  be  able  later  to  give  her  back  a  fortune. 
But  I  am  disgraced;  I  will  not  live  disgraced." 

"You  will  not  be  disgraced  if  you  pay;  but  you  will  lose 
your  place;  you  will  have  nothing  left  but  the  five  hundred 


^  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


55 


francs  pension  attached  to  your  Cross.  Still,  you  can  live 
on  five  hundred  francs." 

"Good-bye,"  cried  Philippe,  who  hurried  downstairs,  and 
would  not  listen. 

Joseph  left  his  work,  and  went  down  to  join  his  mother 
at  breakfast;  but  Philippe's  confession  had  spoiled  his  appe- 
tite. He  took  Madame  Descoings  aside,  and  told  her  the 
dreadful  news.  The  old  woman  gave  a  loud  cry  of  dismay, 
dropped  a  pipkin  full  of  milk  that  she  had  in  her  hand,  and 
sank  on  to  a  chair.  Agathe  hurried  in.  With  one  exclama- 
tion and  another,  the  fatal  facts  were  told  to  the  mother. 

"He  ?  To  fail  in  honesty  !  Bridau's  son  has  taken  money 
that  was  entrusted  to  his  keeping !" 

The  widow  was  trembling  in  every  limb ;  her  eyes  seemed  to 
grow  larger  in  a  fixed  stare;  she  sat  down,  and  burst  into 
tears. 

"Where  is  he?"  she  cried  between  her  sobs.  "Perhaps  he 
has  thrown  himself  into  the  Seine !" 

"You  must  not  despair,"  said  Madame  Descoings,  "because 
the  poor  boy  has  come  in  the  way  of  a  bad  woman,  and  sh(3 
made  a  fool  of  him.  Dear  me ;  that  often  happens !  Until 
he  came  home  Philippe  had  been  so  constantly  unlucky,  he 
had  so  few  chances  of  being  happy  and  loved,  that  we  need 
not  wonder  at  his  passion  for  this  creature.  All  passions 
lead  to  excess.  I  have  something  of  the  kind  in  my  life  for 
which  I  blame  myself,  and  yet  I  think  myself  an  honest 
woman.  One  fault  does  not  constitute  a  vice  !  Besides,  after 
all,  only  those  who  do  nothing  at  all  never  make  any  mis« 
takes." 

Agathe  was  so  overwhelmed  by  despair  that  the  old  lady 
and  Joseph  were  obliged  to  make  light  of  Philippe's  crime  by 
telling  her  that  such  things  occur  in  every  family. 

"But  he  is  eight-and-twenty,"  cried  Agathe;  "he  is  no 
longer  a  child!"  a  cry  of  anguish  betraying  what  the  poor 
woman  thought  of  her  son's  conduct. 

"I  assure  you,  mother,  that  he  thinks  of  nothing  but  your 
grief  and  the  wrong  he  has  done,"  said  Joseph. 


56 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


'^Oh,  great  God !  Bring  him  back.  Only  let  him  live,  and 
I  will  forgive  him  all !"  cried  the  poor  mother,  who  in  fancy 
beheld  a  horrible  picture  of  Philippe  dragged  dead  out  of  the 
river. 

For  some  minutes  awful  silence  reigned.  The  day  was 
spent  in  dreadful  suspense.  All  three  flew  to  the  sitting- 
room  window  at  the  least  noise,  and  gave  themselves  up  to 
endless  conjectures. 

While  his  family  were  in  this  des23air,  Philippe  was  calmly 
setting  everything  in  order  in  his  office.  Pie  had  the  impu- 
dence to  hand  in  his  accounts,  saying  that,  for  fear  of  mis- 
chance, he  had  kept  eleven  thousand  francs  at  his  lodgings. 
The  rascal  left  at  four  o'clock,  taking  five  hundred  francs 
more  from  the  cash-box,  and  coolly  went  up  to  the  gambling 
tables,  where  he  had  not  been  seen  since  his  appointment,  for 
he  had  at  least  understood  that  a  cashier  must  not  frequent 
a  gambling  hell.  His  subsequent  conduct  will  show  that  he 
resembled  his  grandfather  Eouget  rather  than  his  admirable 
father.  He  might  perhaps  have  made  a  good  general ;  but  in 
private  life  he  was  one  of  those  deep-dyed  scoundrels  who 
shelter  their  audacity  and  their  evil  deeds  behind  the  screen 
of  strict  legalit}^,  and  under  the  reticence  of  the  family  roof. 

Philippe  was  perfectly  calm  during  this  critical  venture. 
At  first  he  won,  and  picked  up  as  much  as  six  thousand 
francs;  but  he  let  himself  be  dazzled  by  the  hope  of  ending 
his  anxieties  at  one  stroke.  He  left  the  game  of  trente-et- 
quarante  on  hearing  that  at  the  roulette  table  there  had  been 
a  run  of  sixteen  on  the  black;  he  staked  five  thousand  francs 
on  the  red,  and  black  turned  up  again  for  the  seventeenth 
time.  The  Colonel  then  staked  his  remaining  thousand 
francs  on  the  black,  and  won.  Notwithstanding  this  aston- 
ishing intuition  of  the  chances,  his  head  was  not  clear;  he 
felt  this,  and  yet  he  would  go  on ;  but  the  spirit  of  divination 
which  guides  players,  enlightening  them  b}^  flashes,  was 
already  exhausted.  It  was  now  intermittent — the  gamester's 
ruin.  Intuition,  like  the  rays  of  the  sun,  acts  only  in  an  in- 
flexibly straight  line;  it  can  guess  right  only  on  condition 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


of  never  diverting  its  gaze;  the  freaks  of  chance  disturb  it. 
PhiHppe  lost  everything.  After  so  severe  an  ordeal  the  most 
reckless  spirit  or  the  boldest  must  collapse. 

As  he  went  home  Philippe  thought  the  less  of  his  promise 
to  kill  himself,  because  he  had  never  really  meant  it.  He 
had  forgotten  his  lost  appointment,  his  impaired  deposit- 
money,  his  mother,  and  Mariette — the  cause  of  his  ruin ;  "he 
walked  on  mechanically.  When  he  went  in,  his  mother, 
bathed  in  tears,  Madame  Descoings,  and  Joseph  threw  their 
arms  round  his  neck,  hugged  him,  and  led  him  with  rejoicing 
to  a  seat  by  the  fire. 

"Good!"  thought  he;  "the  announcement  has  had  its 
effect.'' 

The  wretch  put  on  an  appropriately  dolorous  face,  with  all 
the  more  ease  because  his  evening's  play  had  considerably 
upset  him.  On  seeing  her  atrocious  Benjamin  pale  and 
dejected,  his  mother  knelt  down  by  him,  kissing  his  hands, 
pressing  them  to  her  heart,  and  looking  long  in  his  face  with 
her  eyes  full  of  tears. 

"Philippe,"  she  said  in  a  choked  voice,  "promise  not  to 
kill  yourself ;  we  will  forget  everything." 

Philippe  looked  at  his  unnerved  brother,  at  Madame  Des- 
coings  with  a  tear  in  her  eye,  and  he  said  to  himself,  "They 
are  good  souls!"  Then  he  lifted  up  his  mother,  seated  her 
on  his  knee,  clasped  her  to  his  heart,  and  whispered  as  he 
kissed  her,  "You  have  given  me  new  life !" 

Madame  Descoings  contrived  to  produce  a  very  good  dinner, 
adding  a  couple  of  bottles  of  old  wine  and  a  little  West  Indian 
liqueur,  a  treasure  remaining  from  her  former  stock-in-trade. 

"Agathe,  we  must  let  him  smoke  his  cigars,"  said  she  at 
dessert.    And  she  handed  Philippe  some  cigars. 

The  two  poor  souls  believed  that  by  giving  this  fellow  every 
comfort  he  would  learn  to  love  his  home  and  stay  there,  ane 
they  tried  to  accustom  themselves  to  tobacco  smoke,  which 
they  abominated.  This  immense  sacrifice  was  not  even  sus- 
pected by  Philippe. 


58 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT^ 


Next  day  Agathe  had  aged  by  ten  years.  Her  alarms  once 
relieved,  reflection  followed,  and  the  poor  woman  had  not 
closed  an  eye  throughout  that  dreadful  night.  She  was  now 
reduced  to  an  income  of  six  hundred  francs.  Madame  Des- 
coings,  like  all  fat  women  who  love  good  eating,  had  an 
obstinate  catarrh  and  cough,  and  was  growing  heavy ;  her  step 
on  the  stairs  sounded  like  a  pavior's  hammer;  she  might  die 
at  a  moment's  notice,  and  four  thousand  francs  would  perish 
with  her.  Was  it  not  preposterous  to  count  on  that  source  of 
supply  ?  What  was  to  be  done  ?  What  would  become  of  her  ? 
Agathe,  resolved  to  be  a  sick-nurse  rather  than  to  be  a  burden 
on  her  children,  was  not  thinking  of  herself.  But  what 
would  Philippe  do,  reduced  to  his  five  hundred  francs  of  pen- 
sion attached  to  the  Cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honor  ? 

By  contributing  a  thousand  crowns  a  year  for  the  last 
eleven  years,  Madame  Descoings  had  more  than  twice  repaid 
her  debt,  and  she  was  still  sacrificing  her  grandson's  interests 
to  those  of  the  Bridau  family.  Agathe,  though  all  her  strict 
and  honest  sentiments  were  outraged,  in  the  midst  of  this 
dire  disaster  still  could  ask  herself  as  she  thought  of  her  son, 
"Poor  boy,  could  he  help  it?  He  is  faithful  to  his  oath  as 
a  soldier.  It  is  my  fault  for  not  getting  him  married.  If  I 
had  found  him  a  wife,  he  Vv^ould  not  have  formed  a  connection 
with  this  dancer.    He  had  such  a  strong  nature !"    .    .  . 

The  old  tradeswoman,  too,  had  reflected  during  the  night 
as  to  the  means  of  saving  the  honor  of  the  family.  At  day- 
break she  got  out  of  bed,  and  crept  to  her  friend's  room. 

"It  is  not  your  part,  nor  Philippe's,  to  manage  this  delicate 
matter,"  said  she.  "Though  our  two  old  friends,  Claparon 
and  du  Bruel,  are  dead,  we  still  have  old  Monsieur  Desroches, 
who  has  good  judgment,  and  I  will  go  to  him  this  morning. 
Desroches  must  report  that  Philippe  has  been  the  victim  of 
his  confidence  in  a  friend,  and  that  his  weakness  in  such 
cases  quite  unfits  him  for  the  post  of  cashier.  What  has 
happened  once  may  happen  again :  Philippe  prefers  to  retire, 
thus  he  will  not  be  dismissed." 

Agathe,  seeing  in  this  official  lie  a  cloak  for  Philippe's 


A  iSACHELOil'S  ESTABLISHMENT  fSO 

honor,  at  any  rate  in  the  eyes  of  strangers,  embraced  the  olc' 
lady,  who  .went  out  to  settle  the  dreadful  business.  Philippe 
had  slept  the  sleep  of  the  just. 

"She  is  a  sharp  one !"  said  he  with  a  smile,  when  Agathe 
explained  to  her  son  why  breakfast  was  late. 

Old  Desroches,  the  last  friend  left  to  those  two  poor  women, 
still  remembered,  in  spite  of  his  hard  nature,  that  it  was 
Bridau  who  had  given  him  his  place,  and  he  executed  the 
delicate  task  proposed  to  him  with  the  skill  of  an  accomplished 
diplomate.  He  came  to  dine  with  the  family,  and  to  remind 
Agathe  that  she  must  go  on  the  morrow  to  the  Treasury  in 
the  Rue  Vivienne  to  sign  the  transfer  of  the  securities  to  be 
sold,  and  take  out  the  coupons  for  six  hundred  francs,  her 
remaining  dividends.  The  old  man  did  not  leave  this  hapless 
household  till  he  had  obtained  Philippe's  signature  to  a 
petition  to  the  Minister  of  War  begging  to  be  reinstated  in 
active  service.  Desroches  pledged  his  word  to  the  two  women 
that  he  would  forward  the  petition  through  the  departments 
of  the  War  Office,  and  take  advantage  of  the  Duke's  triumph 
over  Philippe  with  the  dancer  to  secure  that  great  man's  in- 
terest. 

'^Vithin  three  months  he  will  be  lieutenant-colonel  in  the 
Due  de  Maufrigneuse's  regiment,  and  you  will  be  rid  of  him." 

Desroches  went  home  loaded  with  blessings  by  the  two 
women  and  Joseph. 

As  to  the  newspaper,  as  Finot  had  prophesied,  two  months 
later  it  had  ceased  to  appear.  Thus,  to  the  world,  Philippe's 
defalcation  had  no  results.  But  Agathe's  motherly  feeling 
had  been  deeply  wounded.  Her  belief  in  her  son  once  shaken, 
she  lived  in  perpetual  terrors,  mitigated  by  satisfaction  when 
she  found  that  her  sinister  anticipations  were  unfounded. 

When  men  like  Philippe,  gifted,  with  personal  courage,  but 
moral  cowards  and  sneaks,  see  the  course  of  affairs  around 
them  following  its  usual  channel  after  a  plunge  in  which  their 
moral  status  has  almost  perished,  this  acceptance  of  the  situa- 
tion by  their  family  or  friends  is  an  encouragement.  The}^ 
are  sure  of  impunity '  their  perverted  mind,  their  gratified 

VOL.  4—31 

I 


60 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENt 


passions,  lead  tliem  to  consider  how  they  succeeded  in  evading 
the  social  law,  and  they  become  atrociously  clever..  Thus,  a 
fortnight  after,  Philippe,  once  more  an  idle  man  and  a 
lounger,  inevitably  returned  to  the  life  of  cafes,  to  his  sittings 
relieved  by  drams,  his  long  games  of  billiards  v/ith  punch, 
his  nightly  visit  to  the  gaming-tables,  where  he  risked  a 
small  stake  at  a  lucky  moment,  and  pocketed  such  little 
winnings  as  sufficed  to  pay  for  his  dissipations.  He  made  a 
display  of  economy  to  deceive  his  mother  and  her  friend, 
wore  an  almost  filthy  hat,  hairless  at  the  edges  of  the  crown 
and  brim,  patched  boots,  a  threadbare  greatcoat,  on  which  the 
red  rosette  scarcely  showed,  so  darkened  was  it  by  long  wear 
and  soiled  with  splashes  of  spirits  or  of  coifee.  His  greenish 
buckskin  gloves  lasted  a  long  time,  and  he  never  cast  off  his 
satin  stock  till  it  looked  like  tow. 

Mariette  was  this  man's  only  love,  and  the  dancer's  faith- 
lessness did  much  to  harden  his  heart.  Now  and  then,  when 
he  won  more  than  he  expected,  or  if  he  were  supping  with  his 
friend  Giroudeau,  Philippe  would  court  a  Venus  of  the 
street,  out  of  a  sort  of  brutal  scorn  for  all  her  sex.  Still,  he 
kept  regular  hours,  breakfasted  and  dined  at  home,  and  came 
in  every  night  at  about  one.  Three  months  of  this  wretched 
life  restored  Agathe  to  some  little  confidence. 

As  for  Joseph,  who  was  at  work  on  the  splendid  picture  to 
which  he  owed  his  reputation,  he  lived  in  his  studio.  On 
the  word  of  her  grandson,  who  firmly  believed  in  Joseph's 
triumph,,  Madame  Descoings  lavished  maternal  care  on  the 
painter;  she  carried  up  his  breakfast  in  the  morning,  ran  his 
errands,  blacked  his  boots.  The  artist  never  appeared  till 
dinner-time,  and  gave  his  evenings  to  his  friends  of  the 
Artistic  Society.  He  also  read  a  great  deal;  he  was  giving 
himself  the  thorough  and  serious  education  which  a  man  gets 
only  from  himself,  and  which  every  man  of  talent  does,  in 
fact,  give  himself  between  the  ages  of  twenty  and  thirty. 
Agathe,  seeing  so  little  of  Joseph,  and  feeling  no  uneasiness 
about  him,  lived  in  Philippe  only,  since  he  alone  gave  her 
those  alternations  of  rising  fears  and  terrors  allayed  which 


A  BACHELOirS  ESTABLISHMENT 


61 


are,  to  a  certain  extent,  the  very  life  of  feeling,  and  as 
necessary  to  motherhood  as  love  is. 

Desroches,  who  came  about  once  a  week  to  call  on  the 
widow  of  his  old  friend  and  chief,  could  give  her  hopes :  the 
Due  de  Maufrigneuse  had  applied,  for  Philippe  to  be  ap- 
pointed to  his  regiment,  the  War  Minister  had  asked  for  a 
report ;  and  as  the  name  of  Bridau  was  not  to  be  found  on  any 
police-list  or  in  any  criminal  trial,  in  the  early  part  of  the 
year  Philippe  would  get  his  papers  and  orders  to  join.  To 
succeed  in  this  matter,  Desroches  had  stirred  up  all  his  ac- 
quaintances; his  inquiries  at  the  head-office  of  the  police  led 
to  his  hearing  that  Philippe  was  to  be  seen  every  night  in  the 
gaming-houses;  and  he  thought  it  wise  to  communicate  the 
secret  to  Madame  Descoings,  but  to  her  alone,  begging  her  to 
keep  an  eye  on  the  future  lieutenant-colonel,  to  whom  any 
scandal  might  be  ruin;  for  the  moment,  the  War  Minister 
would  not  be  likely  to  ask  whether  Philippe  were  a  gambler. 
And  once  enrolled  under  the  regimental  flag,  the  officer  would 
give  up  a  passion  that  was  the  result  of  want  of  occupation. 

Agathe,  who  now  had  no  company  in  the  evening,  read  her 
prayers  by  the  fire;  while  Madame  Descoings  read  her  for- 
tune by  the  cards,  interpreting  her  dreams,  and  applying  the 
rules  of  the  Cabala  to  her  stakes.  The  lighthearted  and 
obstinate  old  woman  never  missed  a  drawing  of  lottery- 
tickets  ;  she  still  staked  on  the  same  three  numbers  which  had 
never  yet  been  drawn.  This  set  of  numbers  was  now  nearly 
twenty-one  years  old — it  would  soon  be  of  age.  Its  holder 
based  high  hopes  on  this  trivial  fact.  One  of  the  numbers 
had  never  come  out  at  any  drawing  of  either  of  the  wheels 
ever  since  the  lottery  was  founded,  so  she  staked  heavily  on 
this  number,  and  on  every  combination  of  the  three  figures. 
The  bottom  mattress  of  her  bed  was  the  hiding-place  for  the 
poor  old  creature's  savings ;  she  unsewed  it,  pushed  in  the  gold 
piece  she  had  saved  on  her  necessities,  neatly  wrapped  in 
wool,  and  sewed  it  up  again.  She  was  resolved,  at  the  last 
Paris  drawing,  to  risk  all  her  savings  on  the  combinations  of 
her  cherished  three  numbers. 


62 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


This  passion,  universally  condemned,  has  never  been  duly 
studied.  No  one  has  understood  this  opium  to  poverty. 
Did  not  the  lottery,  the  most  puissant  fairj;  in  the  world,  give 
rise  of  magical  hopes?  The  turn  at  roulette,  which  gives 
the  player  a  vision  of  limitless  gold  and  enjoyments,  only 
lasted  as  long  as  a  lightning  flash ;  while  the  lottery  gave  five 
days  of  life  to  that  glorious  gleam.  What  social  power  can, 
in  these  days,  make  you  happy  for  five  days,  and  bestow  on 
you  in  fancy  all  the  delights  of  civilized  life — for  forty  sous  ? 
Tobacco,  a  mania  a  thousand  times  more  mischievous  than 
gambling,  destroys  the  body,  undermines  the  intellect, 
stupefies  the  nation ;  the  lottery  caused  no  misfortunes  of  that 
kind.  The  passion  was  compelled  to  moderation  by  the  in- 
terval between  the  drawings,  and  by  the  particular  wheel 
the  ticket-holder  might  affect.  Madame  Descoings  never 
staked  on  any  but  the  Paris  wheel.  In  the  hope  of  seeing 
the  three  numbers  drawn  which  she  had  kept  in  hand  for 
twenty  years,  she  had  subjected  herself  to  the  greatest  priva- 
tions to  enable  her  to  stake  freely  on  the  last  drawing  of  the 
year. 

When  she  had  cabalistic  dreams — for  all  her  dreams  did 
not  bear  on  the  numbers  of  the  lottery — she  would  go  and  tell 
them  to  Joseph;  he  was  the  only  being  who  would  listen  to 
her,  not  merely  without  scolding  her,  but  saying  the  kindly 
words  by  which  artists  can  soothe  a  monomania.  All  really 
great  minds  respect  and  sympathize  with  genuine  passions; 
they  understand  them,  finding  their  root  in  the  heart  or  the 
brain.  As  Joseph  saw  things,  his  brother  loved  tobacco  and 
spirits,  his  old  Maman  Descoings  loved  lottery-tickets,  his 
mother  loved  God,  young  Desroches  loved  lawsuits,  old  Des- 
roches  loved  fly-fishing;  every  one,  said  he,  loves  something. 
What  he  loved  was  ideal  beauty  in  all  things ;  he  loved  Byron's 
poetry,  Gericault's  painting,  Eossini's  music,  Walter  Scott's 
romances. 

"Every  man  to  his  taste,  maman,"  he  would  say,  'T)ut  your 
thrce-pounder  hangs  fire." 

"It  will  not  miss.  You  shall  be  a  rich  man,  and  my  little 
Bixiou  as  well!" 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


63 


''Give  it  all  to  your  grandson/'  cried  Joseph.  "After  all, 
do  you  as  you  please/' 

"Oh,  if  it  comes  out,  I  shall  have  enough  for  everybody. 
To  begin  with,  you  shall  have  a  fine  studio ;  you  shall  not  have 
to  give  up  going  to  the  Opera  in  order  to  pay  your  models 
and  colorman. — Do  you  know,  child,"  she  went  on,  "that 
you  have  not  given  me  a  very  creditable  part  in  that  picture 
of  yours  ?" 

Joseph,  from  motives  of  economy,  had  used  Madame  Des- 
coings  as  the  model  for  a  head  in  his  splendid  painting  of  a 
young  courtesan  introduced  by  an  old  woman  to  a  Venetian 
senator.  This  work,  a  masterpiece  of  modern  art,  mistaken 
for  a  Titian  by  Gros  himself,  prepared  the  younger  painters 
to  recognize  and  proclaim  Joseph's  superiority  in  the  Salon 
of  1823. 

"Those  who  know  you,  know  well  what  you  are,'^  said  h^t 
gaily,  "and  why  should  you  care  about  those  who  do  not 
know  you  ?" 

In  the  last  ten  years  the  old  woman's  face  had  acquired 
the  mellow  tone  of  an  Easter  pippin.  Her  wrinkles  had 
become  set  in  the  full  flesh  that  had  grown  cold  and  pulpy. 
Her  eyes,  full  of  sparkle  still,  seemed  animated  by  a  youthful 
and  eager  thought,  which  might  the  more  easily  be  regarded 
as  one  of  greed,  because  there  is  always  some  little  greed  in 
a  gambler.  Her  plump  features  betrayed  deep  dissimulation, 
and  a  dominant  idea  buried  far  down  in  her  heart.  Her 
passion  required  secretiveness.  The  movement  of  her  lips  gave 
a  hint  of  gluttony.  Thus,  though  she  was  in  fact  the  worthy 
and  kindhearted  woman  we  have  seen,  the  eye  might  be  mis- 
taken in  her.  She  was  a  perfect  model  for  the  old  woman 
Joseph  wished  to  represent. 

Coralie,  a  young  actress  of  exquisite  beauty,  who  died  in 
the  bloom  of  her  youth,  the  mistress  of  a  friend  of  Bridau's, 
Lucien  de  Rubempre,  a  young  poet,  had  given  him  the  idea  of 
this  subject.  This  fine  work  was  sometimes  called  an 
imitation,  but  it  was  a  splendid  scene  as  a  setting  for  three 
portraits.    Michel  Chrestien,  a  youthful  member  of  the 


64 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


Artistic  Society,  had  lent  his  Eepnbliean  countenance  as  a 
model  for  the  senator,  and  Joseph  gave  it  some  touches  of 
maturity,  as  he  slightly  exaggerated  the  expression  of  Mad- 
ame Descoings'  face. 

This  great  picture,  which  was  to  become  so  famous,  and 
to  give  rise  to  so  much  animosity,  jealousy,  and  admiration, 
was  only  begun ;  J oseph,  compelled  to  suspend  his  work  on  it, 
and  to  execute  commissions  for  a  living,  was  busy  copying 
pictures  by  the  old  masters,  thus  studying  all  their  methods ; 
no  painter  handles  his  brush  more  learnedly.  His  good  sense 
as  an  artist  had  counseled  him  to  conceal  from  Madame  Des- 
coings  and  from  his  mother  the  amount  of  money  he  was  be- 
ginning to  make,  seeing  that  each  had  a  road  to  ruin — one  in 
Philippe,  and  the  other  in  the  lottery.  The  peculiar  coolness 
shown  by  the  soldier  in  his  downfall,  the  way  in  which  he  had 
counted  on  his  pretended  purpose  of  suicide — which  Joseph 
had  seen  through — the  mistakes  he  had  made  in  the  career 
he  ought  never  to  have  abandoned,  in  short,  the  smallest  de- 
tails of  his  conduct,  had  at  last  opened  J oseph's  eyes. 

Such  insight  is  rarely  lacking  in  painters.  Occupied  day 
after  day  in  the  silence  of  the  studio,  in  work  which  leaves 
the  mind,  to  a  certain  extent,  free,  they  grow  in  some  sort 
womanly ;  their  thoughts  wander  round  the  small  facts  of  life, 
and  detect  their  covert  meaning. 

Joseph  had  bought  a  fine  old  cabinet — they  were  yet  the 
fashion — to  decorate  a  corner  of  his  studio,  where  the  light 
played  on  the  panels  in  relief,  and  gave  lustre  to  a  master- 
piece of  some  sixteenth  century  craftsman.  Inside  it  he 
found  a  secret  drawer,  where  he  hoarded  a  small  sum  in  case 
of  need.  With  the  easy  trustfulness  of  an  artist,  he  was  ac- 
customed to  keep  the  cash  he  allowed  himself  for  pocket- 
money  in  a  skull  that  lay  on  one  of  the  divisions  of  this 
cabinet;  but,  since  his  brother's  return,  he  found  a  constant 
discrepancy  between  the  sums  he  spent  and  the  balance  left. 
The  hundred  francs  a  month  melted  with  extraordinary  ra- 
pidity. On  finding  nothing  when  he  had  spent  but  fort}''  or 
fifty  francs,  the  first  time  he  said  to  himself,  "My  money  has 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


65 


gone  traveling  post,  it  would  seem !"  The  next  time  he  care- 
fully noted  his  expenses ;  but  in  vain  did  he  count,  like  Eobert 
Macaire,  "Sixteen  and  five  make  twenty-three,"  it  would  not 
come  right. 

On  finding  it  a  third  time  still  more  seriously  wrong,  he 
mentioned  the  painful  subject  to  his  Maman  Descoings,  who 
loved  him,  as  he  felt,  with  that  maternal  affection,  tender, 
trusting,  credulous,  and  enthusiastic,  which  his  mother  did 
not  feel,  however  kind  she  might  be,  and  which  is  as  needful 
to  an  artist  at  the  opening  of  his  career  as  a  hen's  care  is  to 
her  chicks  till  they  are  fledged.  To  her  only  could  he  confide 
his  horrible  suspicions.  He  w^as  as  sure  of  his  friends  as  of 
himself;  Madame  Descoings  would  certainly  never  take  any- 
thing to  risk  in  the  lottery;  and  the  poor  soul  wrung  her 
hands  at  the  thought  as  he  said,  "Only  Philippe  could  com- 
mit this  petty  household  theft." 

"Why  does  not  he  ask  me  for  what  he  wants?"  exclaimed 
Joseph,  mixing  the  paints  on  his  palette  in  utter  confusion 
of  colors,  without  heeding  what  he  was  doing.  "Should  I 
refuse  to  give  him  money  ?" 

"But  it  is  robbing  an  infant !"  cried  the  old  woman,  with 
horror  expressed  in  her  face. 

"No,"  replied  Joseph,  "he  can  have  it;  he  is  my  brother; 
my  purse  is  his,  but  he  ought  to  ask  me." 

"Place  a  fixed  sum  of  money  there  this  morning  and  don't 
touch  it,"  said  Madame  Descoings;  "I  shall  know  who  comes 
to  the  studio,  and  if  nobody  comes  in  but  Philippe  you  will 
know  for  certain." 

Thus,  by  next  day,  Joseph  had  proof  of  the  forced  loans 
levied  on  him  by  his  brother.  Philippe  came  up  to  the  studio 
in  his  brother's  absence  and  took  the  little  cash  he  needed. 
The  artist  feared  for  his  little  hoard. 

"Wait  a  bit,  wait  a  bit,  I  will  catch  you  out,  my  fine  rascal 
said  he  to  Madame  Descoings,  with  a  laugh. 

"Quite  right;  we  ought  to  punish  him,  for  I  have  found 
a  deficit  occasionally  in  my  own  purse.  But,  poor  boy,  he 
must  have  his  tobacco ;  he  has  made  a  habit  of  it." 


66 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


^Toor  boy !  and  poor  boy  indeed !"  retorted  the  artist.  "I 
am  beginning  to  agree  Avith  Fulgence  and  Bixiou — Philippe 
is  always  dragging  at  us.  First  he  gets  mixed  tip  in  a  riot, 
and  has  to  be  sent  to  America,  and  that  costs  my  mother 
twelve  thousand  francs;  then  he  has  not  the  wit  to  find  any- 
thing in  the  wilds  of  the  New  World,  and  it  costs  just  as 
much  to  get  him  home  again;  under  the  pretext  of  having 
repeated  two  words  from  Napoleon  to  a  general,  he  believes 
himself  a  great  soldier,  and  bound  to  sulk  with  the  Bourbons ; 
meanwhile  he  can  travel,,  and  amuse  himself,  and  see  the 
world!  I  am  not  to  be  caught  with  such  bird-lime  as  the 
story  of  his  woes;  he  does  not  look  like  a  man  who  has  not 
made  himself  comfortable  wherever  he  was ! 

*^^Then  my  fine  fellow  has  a  capital  place  found  for  him; 
be  lives  like  Sardanapalus  with  an  opera  girl,  robs  the  till 
of  a  newspaper,  and  costs  his  mother  another  twelve  thou- 
sand francs.  Certainly,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned,  what  need 
I  care?  But  Philippe  will  bring  the  poor  mother  to  want. 
He  treats  me  like  the  dirt  under  his  feet  because  I  never  was 
in  the  Dragoon  Guards !  And  it  will  be  my  part,  perhaps,  to 
maintain  that  poor  dear  mother  in  her  old  age,  while,  if  he 
goes  on  as  he  has  begun,  the  retired  officer  will  end  I  don't 
know  where. 

'bixiou  said  to  me,  ^Your  brother  is  a  nice  rogue !'  Well, 
J' our  grandson  is  right;  Philippe  will  play  some  reckless  trick 
yet  that  will  compromise  the  honor  of  the  family,  and  then 
there  will  be  ten  or  twelve  thousand  francs  more  to  pay !  He 
gambles  every  evening;  w^hen  he  comes  in  as  drunk  as  a  lord 
he  drops  pricked  cards  on  the  stairs,  on  which  he  has  noted 
the  turns  of  red  and  black.  Old  Desroches  is  doing  all  he 
can  to  get  Philippe  reinstated  in  the  army ;  but,  for  my  part, 
I  believe  he  would  be  in  despair  at  having  to  serve  again. 
Could  you  have  believed  that  a  boy  with  such  beautiful  clear 
blue  eyes,  and  a  look  like  the  Chevalier  Bayard,  would  ever 
have  turned  out  such  a  scoundrel?" 

Notwithstanding  the  caution  and  coolness  with  which  Phil- 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


67 


ippe  staked  his  money  every  evening,  he  was  occasionally 
cleaned  out,  as  players  say.  Then,  prompted  by  an  irresist- 
ible craving  to  have  his  stake  for  the  evening,  ten  francs,  he 
helped  himself  in  the  house  to  his  brother's  money,  to  any 
Madame  Descoings  might  leave  about,  or  to  his  mother's. 
Once  already  the  poor  widow  had  seen  through  her  first  sleep 
a  terrible  vision :  Philippe  had  come  into  her  room  and  emp- 
tied the  pocket  of  her  dress  of  all  the  money  in  it.  She  had 
pretended  to  be  asleep,  but  she  had  spent  the  rest  of  that  night 
in  tears.  She  saw  the  truth.  "One  fault  does  not  constitute 
a  vice,"  Madame  Descoings  had  said ;  but  after  constant  lapses 
the  vice  was  plainly  visible.  Agathe  could  no  longer  doubt; 
her  best-beloved  son  had  neither  feeling  nor  honor. 

The  day  after  this  dreadful  vision,  before  Philippe  went 
out  after  breakfast,  she  called  him  into  her  room  and  be- 
sought him  in  suppliant  tones  to  ask  her  for  the  money  he 
should  need.  But  his  demands  became  so  frequent  that  now, 
for  above  a  fortnight,  Agathe's  savings  had  been  exhausted. 
She  had  not  a  farthing;  she  thought  of  seeking  work.  For 
several  evenings  she  had  discussed  with  Madame  Descoings 
the  means  of  making  money  by  her  needle;  indeed,  the  poor 
mother  had  already  asked  at  a  shop — Le  Pere  de  Famille — for 
fancy-work  to  fill  in,  an  employment  by  which  she  might  earn 
about  a  franc  a  day.  In  spite  of  her  niece's  absolute  secrecy, 
the  old  woman  had  easily  guessed  the  reasons  for  this  eager- 
ness to  make  money  by  such  feminine  arts.  Indeed,  the 
change  in  Agathe's  appearance  was  sufficiently  eloquent;  her 
fresh  complexion  was  faded,  the  skin  was  drawn  over  the 
temples  and  cheek-bones,  her  forehead  was  seamed,  her  eyes 
lost  their  lustre,,  some  inward  fire  was  evidently  consuming 
her,  and  she  spent  the  night  in  tears. 

But  what  most  deeply  ravaged  her  was  the  necessity  for 
silence  as  to  her  pain,  her  anxieties,  and  her  apprehensions. 
She  never  went  to  sleep  till  Philippe  had  come  in ;  she  listened 
for  him  in  the  street;  she  had  studied  the  differences  in  his 
voice,  in  his  step,  in  the  very  tone  of  his  cane  rattling  on  the 
paving-stones.    She  knew  everything,  exactly  the  degree  of 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


intoxication  that  he  had  reached,  quaking  as  she  heard  him 
stumble  on  the  stairs.  One  night  she  had  picked  up  some  gold 
pieces  on  the  spot  where  he  had  let  himself  fall.  When  he 
had  drunk  and  won,  his  voice  was  husky  and  his  stick 
dragged;  but  when  he  had  lost,  there  was  something  short, 
crisp,  and  furious  in  his  footstep ;  he  would  sing  a  tune  in  a 
clear  voice,  and  carry  his  cane  shouldered  like  a  musket.  At 
breakfast,  if  he  had  been  winning,  his  expression  was  cheerful 
and  almost  affectionate;  he  jested  coarsely,  still  he  jested, 
with  Madame  Descoings,  with  Joseph,  and  his  mother;  if 
he  had  lost,  on  the  contrary,  he  was  morose,  his  speech  was 
curt  and  sharp,  his  gaze  hard,  and  his  gloom  quite  alarming. 

This  life  of  debauchery  and  the  habit  of  drink  left  their 
mark  day  by  day  on  the  countenance  that  had  once  been  so 
handsome.  The  veins  in  his  face  were  purple,  his  features 
grew  thick,  his  eyes  lost  their  lashes,  and  looked  dry.  And 
then  Philippe,  careless  of  his  person,  carried  with  him  the 
miasma  of  smoke  and  spirits,  and  a  smell  of  muddy  boots, 
which  to  a  stranger  would  have  seemed  the  last  stamp  of 
yqualor. 

"You  ought  to  have  a  complete  new  suit  of  clothes  from 
head  to  foot,"  said  Madame  Descoings  to  Philippe  one  day 
early  in  December. 

"And  who  is  to  pay  for  them  said  he  bitterly.  "My  poor 
mother  has  not  a  sou ;  I  have  five  hundred  francs  a  year.  It 
would  cost  a  yearns  pension  to  buy  me  an  outfit,  and  I  have 
pledged  it  for  three  years  to  come    .  . 

"What  for     said  Joseph. 

"A  debt  of  honor.  Giroudeau  borrowed  a  thousand  francs 
from  Florentine  to  lend  to  me. — I  am  not  well  got  up,  it  must 
be  confessed ;  but  when  you  remember  that  Napoleon  is  at  St. 
Helena,  and  sells  his  plate  to  buy  food,  the  soldiers  that  re- 
main faithful  to  him  may  very  well  walk  in  boot-tops,"  said 
he,  showing  his  boots  without  heels,  and  he  walked  off. 

"He  is  not  a  bad  fellow,"  said  Agathe;  "he  has  good  feel- 
ings." 

"He  may  love  the  Emperor  and  still  keep  himself  cleai^" 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT  6d 

eaid  Joseph.  "If  he  took  some  care  of  himself  and  his  clothes, 
he  would  look  less  like  a  tramp." 

"Joseph,  you  ought  to  be  indulgent  to  your  brother/'  said 
Agathe.  "You  can  do  just  what  you  like,  while  he  certainly 
is  out  of  his  place." 

"x\nd  why  did  he  leave  it?"  asked  Joseph.  "What  does  it 
matter  whether  the  flag  shows  Louis  XVIII. 's  bugs  or  Napo- 
leon's cockyoly  bird  if  the  bunting  flies  for  France  ?  France 
is  France !  I  would  paint  for  the  devil.  A  soldier  ought  to 
fight,  if  he  is  a  soldier,  for  love  of  the  art.  If  he  had  stayed 
quietly  in  the  army,  by  this  time  he  would  be  a  general." 

"You  are  unjust,"  said  Agathe.  "Your  father,  who  adored 
the  Emperor,  would  have  approved  of  what  he  did.  However, 
he  agrees  to  rejoin  the  army.  God  alone  knows  what  is  costs 
your  brother  to  commit  what  he  considers  an  act  of  treason." 

Joseph  rose  to  go  up  to  his  studio;  but  Agathe  took  his 
hand,  saying: 

"Be  good  to  your  brother ;  he  is  so  unfortunate." 

When  the  artist  entered  his  studio,  followed  by  Madame 
Descoings,  who  begged  him  to  spare  his  mother's  feelings,  re- 
marking how  much  she  was  altered,  and  what  acute  mental 
suffering  this  alteration  betrayed,  they  found  Philippe  there, 
to  their  great  surprise. 

"Joseph,  my  boy,"  said  he  in  an  airy  way,  "I  am  desper- 
ately in  want  of  money.  By  the  piper !  I  owe  thirty  francs 
for  cigars  at  the  tobacconist's,  and  I  dare  not  pass  the  cursed 
shop  without  paying.  I  have  promised  to  pay  at  least  ten 
times." 

"All  right !  I  like  this  way  best,"  said  J oseph.  "Take  it 
out  of  the  death's  head." 

"Oh,  I  took  all  that  last  night  after  dinner." 
"There  were  forty-five  francs  " 

"That  is  just  what  I  made  it,"  replied  Philippe.  "I  found 
them  there.    Was  that  wrong?"  he  asked. 

"No,  my  dear  fellow,  no,"  said  the  artist.  "If  you  were 
rich,  I  should  do  as  you  do;  only,  before  helping  myself,  I 
should  ask  if  it  were  convenient  to  you." 


70 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


^'It  is  very  humiliating  to  have  to  ask/'  replied  Philippe. 
"I  would  sooner  you  should  take  it  as  I  do,  and  say  nothing. 
It  shows  more  confidence.  In  the  army,  when  a  comrade 
dies,  if  he  has  a  good  pair  of  boots  and  you  have  a  bad  pair, 
you  exchange  with  him.'' 

"Yes,  but  you  don't  take  them  while  he  is  aiive !" 

'^A  mere  quibble !"  retorted  Philippe  with  a  shrug.  "So 
you  have  no  money  ?" 

"No,"  said  Joseph,  determined  not  to  show  his  hoard. 

"In  a  few  days  we  shall  all  be  rich,"  said  the  old  woman. 

"Oh  yes !  You  really  believe  that  your  three  numbers  will 
come  out  on  the  25th  at  the  Paris  drawing !  You  must  put 
in  a  large  stake  if  you  mean  to  make  us  all  rich." 

"A  natural  ternion  for  two  hundred  francs  will  bring  out 
three  millions,  to  say  nothing  of  the  doublets  and  the  single 
drawings." 

"At  fifteen  thousand  times  the  stake — ^yes,  it  is  exactly  two 
hundred  francs !"  cried  Philippe. 

The  old  woman  bit  her  lip ;  she  had  dropped  an  imprudent 
hint. 

In  fact,  as  he  went  downstairs,  Philippe  was  asking  him- 
self: 

"Where  has  that  old  witch  hidden  the  money  for  her  lottery 
tickets  ?  It  is  sheer  waste  of  money,  and  I  could  make  such 
good  use  of  it !  On  four  stakes  of  fifty  francs  each  I  might 
make  two  hundred  thousand  francs.  And  it  is  far  more  cer- 
tain than  the  drawing  of  three  numbers  in  a  lottery !" 

He  wondered  where  Madame  Descoings  would  be  likely  to 
hide  her  hoard. 

On  the  eve  of  the  great  Church  Festivals,  Agathe  always 
went  to  church  and  stayed  there  a  long  time,  at  confession  no 
doubt,  and  in  preparing  for  Communion.  It  was  now  Christ- 
mas Eve.  Madame  Descoings  would  certainly  go  out  to  buy 
Bome  extra  treat  for  supper,  but  perhaps  she  would  pay  for 
her  ticket  at  the  same  time.  The  lottery  was  drawn  every 
five  days,  on  the  wheels,  in  turn,  of  Bordeaux,  Lyons,  Lille, 
Strasbourg,  and  Paris.    The  Paris  drawing  took  place  on  the 


A  BACIIELOnVS  ESTABLISHMENT 


n 


25th  of  each  month;  the  lists  were  closed  at  midnight  on  the 
24th.    The  soldier  studied  the  case,  and  set  liimself  to  watch. 

At  about  noon  Philippe  came  in.  Madame  Descoings  was 
gone  out,  but  she  had  taken  the  door-key.  This  was  no 
difficulty.  Philippe,  saying  that  he  had  forgotten  something, 
begged  the  woman  at  the  lodge  to  go  to  fetch  a  locksmith,  who 
lived  close  by  in  the  Eue  Guenegaud,  and  who  opened  the 
door.  Philippe's  first  idea  was  to  search  the  bed ;  he  unmade 
it,  felt  the  mattresses  before  examining  the  frame,  and  in  the 
bottom,  mattress  he  felt  the  gold  pieces  wrapped  in  paper.  He 
had  soon  unsewn  the  ticking  and  picked  out  twenty  napoleons ; 
then,  without  wasting  time  in  sewing  it  up  again,  he  remade 
the  bed  neatly  enough  to  prevent  the  old  woman's  observing 
anything  wrong. 

The  gambler  made  off  on  a  light  foot,  intending  to  play 
three  times,  at  intervals  of  three  hours,  and  for  ten  minutes 
only  each  time.  The  great  gamblers,  ever  since  1786,  when 
the  gambling-houses  were  first  opened,  the  formidable 
gamblers  who  were  the  terror  of  the  bank,  and  who  fairly  ate 
money  at  the  tables,  to  use  the  familiar  expression  in  such 
places,  never  played  by  any  other  rule.  But  before  achieving 
this  experience  they  lost  fortunes.  All  the  philosophy  of 
those  who  farmed  the  concern  and  all  their  profit  was  derived 
from  the  rules ;  from  the  non-liability  of  the  bank ;  from  ties 
called  draws,  of  which  half  the  winnings  remained  in  its 
possession;  and  from  the  villainous  fraud  authorized  by  the 
State,  which  made  it  optional  to  take  or  reject  the  players' 
stakes.  In  a  word,  the  bank,  while  refusing  to  play  with  a 
rich  and  cool  hand,  devoured  the  whole  fortune  of  any  player 
w^ho  was  so  persistently  foolish  as  to  allow  himself  to  be  in- 
toxicated by  the  rapid  whirl  of  its  machinery,  for  the  dealers 
at  trente-et-quarante  worked  almost  as  fast  as  the  roulette 
could. 

Philippe  had  at  last  succeeded  in  acquiring  that  presence 
of  mind  which  enables  a  commander-in-chief  to  keep  a  keen 
^ye  and  a  calm  brain  in  the  midst  of  the  whirligig  of  things. 
He  had  achieved  those  high  politics  of  gambling  which,  it 


72 


A  BACHELOirS  ESTABLISHMENT 


may  be  said  incidentally,  enabled  a  thousand  men  in  Paris  to 
look  night  after  night  into  a  gulf  without  turning  giddy. 

With  these  four  hundred  francs  Philippe  was  determined 
to  make  his  fortune  in  the  course  of  the  day.  He  hid  two 
hundred  francs  in  his  boots,  and  kept  two  hundred  in  his 
pocket.  By  three  o'clock  he  was  at  the  gambling-house,  where 
the  Palais-Koyal  theatre  nov>^  stands,  where  the  bankers  com- 
monly held  the  largest  reserve.  Half  an  hour  after  he  came 
out,  having  won  seven  thousand  francs.  He  went  to  see 
Florentine,  paid  her  five  hundred  francs  that  he  owed  her, 
and  invited  her  to  supper  after  the  play  at  the  Kocher  de 
Cancale.  On  his  way  back,  he  went  through  the  Kue  du 
Sentier  to  tell  his  friend  Giroudeau  of  the  projected 
festivity. 

At  six  o'clock  Philippe  had  won  twenty-five  thousand 
francs,  and  at  the  end  of  ten  minutes  kept  his  word  to  him- 
self and  went  away.  In  the  evening,  at  ten,  he  had  won 
seventy-five  thousand  francs.  After  the  supper,  which  was 
splendid,  Philippe,  drunk  and  confident,  returned  to  the 
tables  at  about  midnight.  Then,  against  the  rule  he  had 
made,  he  played  for  an  hour  and  doubled  his  winnings.  The 
bank,  from  whom  his  mode  of  play  had  wrung  a  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  francs,  watched  him  with  curiosity. 

"Will  he  go  away  or  will  he  stay?"  the  men  asked  <iach 
other  by  a  glance.    "If  he  stays,  he  is  done  for." 

Philippe  believed  that  luck  was  with  him,  and  stayed.  At 
three  in  the  morning  the  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs 
had  returned  to  the  cash-box. 

The  Colonel,  who  had  drunk  a  good  deal  of  grog  while 
playing,  went  out  in  a  state  of  intoxication,  which  the  nipping 
cold  aggravated  to  the  utmost;  but  a  waiter  followed  him,, 
picked  him  up,  and  carried  him  to  one  of  the  horrible  places 
svhere,  inscribed  on  a  lamp,  the  notice  may  be  read,  "Beds  by 
the  night."  The  waiter  paid  for  the  ruined  gambler,  who  was 
laid  on  a  bed  in  his  clothes,  and  remained  there  till  Christ- 
mas night.  The  managers  of  the  gambling-houses  treated 
regular  customers  and  high  players  with  respect. 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


73 


Philippe  did  not  wake  till  seven  that  evening,  his  mouth 
furred,  his  face  swelled,  and  racked  with  nervous  fever.  His 
strong  constitution  enabled  him  to  get  on  foot  to  his  mother^s 
home,  whither  he  had  unwittingly  brought  sorrow,  despair, 
ruin,  and  death. 

The  day  before,  when  dinner  was  ready,  Madame  Descoings 
and  Agathe  waited  two  hours  for  Philippe.  They  did  not 
sit  dov/n  till  seven  o'clock.  Agathe  almost  always  went  to  her 
room  at  ten;  but  as  she  wished  to  attend  midnight  mass,  she 
went  to  lie  down  directly  after  dinner.  The  old  aunt  and 
Joseph  remained  together  in  the  little  sitting-room  which 
now  served  all  purposes,  and  she  begged  him  to  work  out  the 
sum  of  her  much-talked-of  stake,  her  monster  stake  on  the 
famous  ternion.  She  meant  to  go  for  the  double  numbers 
and  first  drawings,  so  as  to  combine  all  the  chances.  After 
smacking  her  lips  over  the  poetry  of  this  master-stroke,  and 
pouring  out  both  cornucopias  at  the  feet  of  her  adopted 
favorite;  after  telling  him  all  her  dreams,  proving  that  she 
could  not  fail  to  win,  wondering  only  how  she  should  endure 
such  good  fortune,  or  wait  for  it  from  midnight  till  ten  next 
morning,  Joseph,  who  did  not  see  where  the  four  hundred 
francs  were  to  come  from,  mentioned  the  matter.  The  old 
woman  smiled  and  led  him  into  the  old  drawing-room,  now 
her  bedroom. 

"You  will  see  \"  said  she. 

Madame  Descoings  hastily  stripped  her  bed,  and  went  for 
her  scissors  to  unstitch  the  mattress ;  she  put  on  her  spectacles, 
looked  at  the  ticking,  and  found  it  unsewn.  On  hearing  the 
old  woman  heave  a  sigh  that  came  from  the  depths  of  her 
bosom,  and  seemed  choked  by  the  blood  rushing  to  her  heart, 
Joseph  instinctively  held  out  his  arms  to  the  poor  old  lottery- 
gambler,  and  laid  her  senseless  on  a  chair,  calling  to  his 
mother  to  come.  Agathe  sprang  up,  put  on  her  dressing- 
gown,  and  hurried  in;  by  the  light  of  a  tallow  candle  she 
applied  every  common  remedy  for  a  fainting  fit — eau  de 
Cologne  on  her  aunt's  temples,  cold  viater  on  her  forehead, 
burnt  feathers  under  her  nose;  at  last  slie  saw  her  revive. 


74 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


"They  were  there  this  morning;  he  has  taken  them — that 
wretch !" 

"What?^^  asked  Joseph. 

"I  had  twenty  lonis  in  my  mattress,  my  savings  for  two 
years.    Only  Philippe  can  have  taken  them    .  . 

"But  when?'^  cried  the  mother,  quite  crushed;  "he  has  not 
been  in  since  breakfast." 

"I  should  be  glad  to  be  mistaken,"  said  the  old  woman. 
"But  this  morning,  in  Joseph's  studio,  when  I  spoke  of  my 
stake  in  the  lottery  I  had  a  warning.  I  was  wrong  not  to  go 
down  and  take  out  my  little  lucky-penny  and  put  it  into  the 
lottery  at  once.  I  meant  to  do  it,  and  I  forget  what  hindered 
me. — Good  God !    And  I  went  to  buy  cigars  for  him !" 

"But,"  said  Joseph,  "our  front-door  was  locked.  Besides, 
it  is  so  vile  that  I  v/ill  not  believe  it.  Philippe  watched  you 
'i>ut,  unsewed  your  mattress,  premeditated  !  No." 

"I  felt  them  there  this  morning  when  I  made  my  bed  after 
)*reakfast,"  said  Madame  Descoings. 

Agathe,  quite  horror-stricken,  went  downstairs  to  ask 
ivhether  her  son  had  come  in  during  the  day,  and  the  door- 
keeper told  her  Philippe^s  fable.  The  mother,  struck  to  the 
Jieart,  came  up  again  completely  altered.  As  white  as  her  cot- 
'/,on  shift,  she  walked  as  we  fancy  ghosts  may  walk,  noiselessly, 
slowly,  as  if  by  the  impulse  of  a  superhuman  power,  and  yet 
almost  mechanically.  She  held  a  candle  in  her  hand,  which 
lighted  up  her  face  and  her  eyes  fixed  in  despair.  Without 
knowing  it,  she  had  pushed  her  hair  over  her  brow  with  her 
hands,  and  this  detail  made  her  so  beautiful  in  her  horror  that 
Joseph  stood  riveted  by  this  image  of  anguish,  this  vision  of 
a  statue  of  terror  and  dejection. 

"Aunt,"  said  she,  "take  my  spoons  and  forks;  I  have  six 
sets,  that  will  make  up  the  sum,  for  it  was  I  who  took  it  for 
Philippe ;  I  thought  I  could  replace  it  before  you  should  find 
it  out.    Oh  !  I  have  suffered  !" 

She  sat  down.    Her  dry  fixed  gaze  wavered  a  little  then. 

"It  is  he  who  has  done  the  trick,"  said  Madame  Descoings 
in  an  undertone  to  Joseph. 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


75 


"No,  no/^  repeated  Agathe.  "Take  the  silver,  sell  it ;  it  is 
of  no  use  to  me ;  we  can  use  yours." 

She  went  into  her  room,  took  up  the  plate-box,  found  it 
very  light,  opened  it,  and  saw  a  pawn  ticket.  The  poor 
mother  gave  a  dreadful  cry.  J oseph  and  Madame  Descoings 
hastened  in,  glanced  at  the  box,  and  the  mother's  heroic  false- 
hood was  in  vain.  They  all  three  stood  silent,  avoiding  even 
a  glance.  At  that  moment,  with  a  gesture  almost  of  mad- 
ness, Agathe  laid  her  finger  on  her  lips  to  seal  the  secret  which 
no  one  would  divulge.  Then  all  three  went  back  to  the 
sitting-room  fire. 

"I  tell  you,  my  children,  I  am  heart-broken,"  said  Madame 
Descoings.  "My  numbers  will  be  drawn,  I  am  quite  positive ! 
I  am  not  thinking  of  myself,  but  of  you  two ! — Philippe  is  a 
monster,"  she  went  on,  turning  to  her-  niece.  "He  does  not 
love  you,  in  spite  of  all  you  have  done  for  him.  If  you  do 
not  find  some  means  to  protect  yourself,  the  wretch  will  turn 
you  into  the  street.  Promise  me  to  sell  your  stock,  realize 
the  capital,  and  sink  it  in  an  annuity.  By  taking  that  step 
you  will  never  be  a  burden  on  Joseph.  Monsieur  Desroches 
wants  to  set  up  his  son  in  an  office,  and  the  boy"  (he  was  now 
«ix-and-twenty)  "has  found  one.  He  will  take  your  twelve 
thousand  francs  and  pay  you  an  annuity." 

Joseph  seized  his  mother's  candlestick  and  hurried  up  to 
the  studio;  he  came  down  with  three  hundred  francs. 

"Here,  Maman  Descoings,"  said  he,  ofi'ering  her  his  little 
hoard,  "it  is  no  business  of  ours  to  inquire  what  you  do  with 
your  money;  we  owe  you  what  is  missing,  and  here  it  is — 
almost  all  of  it." 

"I ! — take  your  little  treasure,  the  result  of  your  privations, 
which  distress  me  so  much!  Are  you  mad,  Joseph?"  cried 
the  old  woman,  evidently  torn  by  her  stupid  belief  in  the  luck 
of  her  numbers  in  the  State  lotter}^,  and  what  seemed  to  her 
the  sacrilege  of  such  a  proceeding. 

"Oh  !  do  what  you  will  with  it,"  said  Agathe,  moved  to  tears 
by  this  action  of  her  true  son's. 

Madame  Descoings  took  Joseph's  head  in  her  hands  and 

kissed  his  forehead. 
VOL.  4—32 


76 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


"My  child,  do  not  tempt  me/'  she  said ;  "I  should  only  lose 
it.    The  lottery  is  a  fool's  game !" 

Never  was  anything  so  heroical  said  in  any  of  the  obscure 
dramas  of  private  life.  Was  it  not,  in  fact,  the  triumph  of 
affection  over  an  inveterate  vice  ? 

At  this  minute  the  bells  began  to  toll  for  midnight  mass. 

"Besides,  it  is  too  late,"  added  the  old  woman. 

"Oh!"  cried  Joseph;  "here  are  your  cabalistic  calcula- 
tions." 

The  magnanimous  artist  seized  the  tickets,  flew  downstairs, 
and  away  to  pay  the  stake.  When  he  was  gone,  Agathe  and 
Madame  Descoings  melted  into  tears. 

"He  is  gone !"  exclaimed  the  old  gambler.  "But  it  will 
all  be  his,  for  it  is  his  money." 

Joseph,  unluckily,  did  not  in  the  least  know  where  to  find 
the  lottery-ticket  offices,  which  those  who  frequented  them 
knew  as  well  in  Paris  as,  in  these  days,  smokers  know  the 
tobacco  shops.  The  painter  rushed  wildly  on,  looking  at  the 
lamp  signs.  When  he  asked  some  one  he  met  to  tell  hini'. 
where  there  was  a  lottery-office,  he  v/as  told  that  they  were^ 
closed,  but  that  one  by  the  steps  of  the  Palais  Eoyal  some  - 
times remained  open  a  little  later.  The  artist  flew  to  the 
Palais  Eoyal ;  the  office  was  shut, 

"Two  minutes  sooner  and  you  could  have  paid  in  your 
stake,"  said  one  of  the  ticket-criers  who  stood  at  the  bottom 
of  the  steps,  shouting  these  strange  words,  "Twelve  hundred 
francs  for  forty  sous !"  and  selling  ready  numbered  tickets. 

By  the  glimmer  of  a  street  lamp  and  the  lights  in  the  Cafe 
de  la  Eotonde,  Joseph  examined  these  tickets  to  see  whether 
by  chance  either  of  them  bore  Madame  Descoings'  pet  num- 
bers; but  he  could  not  find  one,  and  returned  home  in  grief 
at  having  done  in  vain  all  that  lay  in  his  power  to  please  the 
old  woman,  to  whom  he  related  his  disappointments. 

Agathe  and  her  aunt  went  off  to  mass  at  Saint-Germain- 
des-Pres.  Joseph  went  to  bed.  No  one  kept  Christmas  Eve. 
Madame  Descoings  had  lost  her  head;  Agathe's  heart  was 
for  ever  broken. 


A  BACHELOR'S  ES  rABLTSHMENT 


77 


The  two  women  rose  late.  Ten  o'clock  was  striking  when 
Madame  Descoings  bestirred  herself  to  get  breakfast,  which 
was  not  ready  till  half-past  eleven.  By  that  time  the  long 
frames  hanging  outside  the  lottery-ticket  offices  showed  an 
array  of  figures.  If  Madame  Descoings  had  had  her  ticket, 
she  would  have  gone  by  half-past  nine  o'clock  to  the  Eue  Neuve 
des  Petits  Champs  to  learn  her  fate,  which  was  decided  in  a 
house  next  door  to  the  offices  of  the  Minister  of  Finance,  on  ai 
spot  now  occupied  by  the  Square  and  the  Yentadour  theatre. 

Every  time  the  lottery  was  drawn,  the  curious  could  see  at 
the  door  of  this  building  a  posse  of  old  women,  cooks,  and  old 
men,  who  at  that  time  constituted  as  strange  a  spectacle  as 
that  of  the  stock-holders  forming  a  queue  on  the  day  when 
dividends  are  paid  at  the  Treasury. 

"Well,  so  you  are  rolling  in  riches !"  exclaimed  old  Des- 
roches,  coming  in  just  as  Madame  Descoings  was  swallowing 
her  last  mouthful  of  coffee. 

"How?"  cried  poor  Agathe. 

"Her  three  numbers  have  come  out,"  said  he,  holding  out 
a  list  of  numbers  written  on  a  scrap  of  paper,  such  as  office 
clerks  kept  by  the  hundred  in  the  paper-tray  on  their  desks. 

Joseph  read  the  list.  Agathe  read  the  list.  Madame  Des- 
coings read  nothing.  She  fell  back  as  if  stricken  by  light- 
ning; seeing  her  face  change  and  hearing  her  cry,  old  Des- 
roches  and  Joseph  carried  her  to  her  bed.  Agathe  went  for 
a  doctor.  The  poor  woman  had  fallen  in  a  fit  of  apoplexy, 
and  she  did  not  recover  consciousness  till  about  four  in  the 
afternoon.  Old  Doctor  Haudry,  her  physician,  pronounced 
that,  notwithstanding  this  amelioration,  she  would  do  well  to 
settle  her  affairs  and  think  of  her  religious  duties.  She  had 
uttered  but  two  words,  "Three  millions !" 

Old  Desroches,  to  whom  Joseph  explained  the  circum- 
stances with  the  necessary  reservations,  spoke  of  numbers  of 
lottery-gamblers  who  had  in  the  same  way  missed  a  fortune 
on  the  day  when  by  some  fatality  they  had  failed  to  pay  up 
their  stakes;  still,  he  understood  how  mortal  a  blow  this  must 
be  after  twenty  years  of  perseverance. 


78 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


At  five  o'clock,  when  perfect  silence  reigned  in  the  littk 
dwelling,  and  when  the  dying  woman,  watched  by  Joseph  at 
the  foot  of  her  bed,  and  Agathe  at  her  pillow,  was  expecting 
her  grandson,  whom  Desroches  had  gone  to  seek,  the  sound 
of  Philippe's  step  and  walking-stick  echoed  on  the  stairs. 

"There  he  is,  there  he  is !"  cried  Madame  Descoings,  sitting 
up  in  bed,  and  suddenly  recovering  the  use  of  her  paral}zed 
tongue. 

Agathe  and  Joseph  were  impressed  by  the  impulse  of  horror 
which  so  vehemently  roused  the  sick  woman.  Their  miserable 
expectations  were  wholly  justified  by  Philippe's  appearance; 
by  his  purple,  vacant  face,  his  uncertain  gait,  and  the  horrible 
look  of  his  eyes  with  deep  red  rims,  glazed  and  yet  wild-look- 
ing; he  was  shivering  violently  with  fever,  and  his  teeth 
chattered. 

"What  the  devil !"  he  exclaimed.  "Neither  bit  nor  sup,  and 
my  throat  is  on  fire.  Well,  what's  up  now?  The  foul  fiend 
puts  his  hoof  in  all  that  concerns  us.  My  old  Descoings  in 
bed,  and  making  eyes  at  me  as  big  as  saucers  " 

"Be  silent,  sir,"  said  Agathe,  rising.  "At  least  you  ma]r 
respect  the  misery  you  have  caused." 

"Hallo !  Sir  f  said  he,  looking  at  his  mother.  "My  dea:r 
little  mother,  that  is  not  kind;  do  you  no  longer  love  youi: 
boy?" 

"Are  you  worthy  to  be  loved?  Have  you  forgotten  what 
you  did  yesterday?  You  may  look  out  for  a  lodging  for 
yourself;  you  shall  no  longer  live  with  me.  From  to-mor- 
row," she  added,  "for  in  such  a  state  as  you  are  in  it  would 
be  difficult  " 

"To  turn  me  out  ? — So  you  are  going  to  play  the  melodrama 
of  the  Banished  Son?"  he  went  on.  "Dear,  dear!  Is  that 
how  you  take  it  ?  Well,  you  are  all  a  pretty  pack  of  owls  !  What 
harm  have  I  done?  Cleaned  out  the  old  woman's  mattress 
for  her.  We  don't  keep  money  in  wool,  deuce  take  it. — And 
where  is  the  crime?  Did  not  she  take  twenty  thousand 
francs,  I  should  like  to  know?  Are  not  we  her  creditors?  I 
have  taken  so  much  on  account ;  that's  all." 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


79 


''Oh,  God !  oh,  God  \"  cried  the  dying  woman,  clasping  her 
hands  in  prayer. 

"Hold  your  tongue !"  said  Joseph,  rushing  at  his  brother 
and  clapping  his  hand  over  his  mouth. 

"Right  about  face,  half  turn  to  the  left,  you  dirty  little 
painter  \"  replied  Philippe,  laying  his  heavy  hand  on  J oseph's 
shoulder,  turning  him  round,  and  landing  him  in  an  arm- 
chair. "That  is  not  the  way  to  meddle  with  the  moustache 
of  a  Major  of  Dragoons  of  the  Imperial  Guard." 

"She  has  repaid  me  all  she  owed  me,"  cried  Agathe,  rising* 
and  turning  an  angry  face  to  her  son.  "Besides,  that  is  no- 
body's business  but  mine.  •  You  are  killing  her.  Go,"  she 
added  with  a  gesture  that  exhausted  all  her  force,  "and  never 
let  me  see  you  again.    You  are  a  viilian !" 

"I  am  killing  her?" 

"Yes;  her  numbers  were  drawn  in  the  lottery,  and  you 
stole  the  money  she  would  have  staked." 

"Oh,  if  she  is  dying  of  a  lost  chance,  then  it  is  not  I  who 
am  killing  her,"  retorted  the  drunkard. 

"Go,  I  say,"  said  Agathe;  "you  fill  me  with  horror.  You 
have  every  vice  !    Good  God,  and  is  this  my  son?" 

A  hollow  croak  from  Madame  Descoings'  throat  had  aggra- 
vated Agathe's  wrath. 

"And  yet  I  still  love  you,  mother,  though  you  are  the  cause 
of  all  my  misfortunes,"  said  Philippe.  "And  you  can  turn 
me  out  of  doors  on  a  Christmas  Day,  the  birthday  of  What  d'ye 
call  him — Jesus ! — What  did  you  do  to  Grandpapa  Rouget, 
your  father,  that  he  turned  you  out  and  disinherited  you  ?  If 
you  had  not  offended  him  in  some  way,  we  should  have  been 
rich,  and  I  should  not  have  been  reduced  to  the  depths  of 
misery.  What  did  you  do  to  your  father,  I  should  like  to 
know,  you  who  are  so  good?  You  see,  I  may  be  a  very  good 
boy,  and  be  turned  out  of  doors  nevertheless — I,  the  glory  of 
the  family  " 

"Its  disgrace!"  cried  Madame  Descoings. 

"Leave  the  room,  or  kill  me !"  cried  Joseph,  rushing  on  hi.s 
brother  with  the  fury  of  a  lion. 


HO 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


"Good  God !  good  God !"  cried  Agathe,  trying  to  separate 
the  brothers. 

At  this  moment  Bixioii  and  I>octor  Haudry  came  in. 
J oseph  had  knocked  down  his  brother,  and  Philippe  was  lying 
on  the  floor. 

"He  is  a  perfect  wild  beast !"  he  said.  "Not  a  word,  or 
I'll  " 

"I  will  remember  this,"  bellowed  Philippe. 

"A  little  family  difference  ?"  said  Bixiou. 

"Pick  him  up/'  said  the  physician;  ^Tie  is  as  ill  as  the  old 
lady ;  undress  him,  put  him  to  bed,  and  pull  his  boots  off." 

"That  is  easily  said,"  observed  Bixiou.  "But  they  must  be 
cut  off :  his  legs  are  swelled  " 

Agathe  brought  a  pair  of  scissors.  When  she  had  slit  the 
boots,  which  at  that  time  were  worn  outside  tight-fitting 
trousers,  ten  gold  pieces  rolled  out  on  to  the  floor. 

"There — there  is  her  money,"  muttered  Philippe.  "Blasted 
idiot  that  I  am,  I  forgot  the  reserve  fund !  So  I  too  missed 
fire!" 

The  delirium  of  high  fever  now  came  upon  Philippe,  who 
began  to  talk  wildly.  Joseph,  with  the  help  of  the  elder  Des- 
roches,  who  came  in  presently,  and  of  Bixiou,  got  the  wretched 
man  up  to  his  own  room.  Doctor  Haudry  was  obliged  to  write 
a  line  begging  the  loan  of  a  strait-waistcoat  from  the  hospital, 
for  his  mania  increased  to  such  a  pitch  that  they  feared  he 
might  kill  himself — he  was  like  a  madman. 

By  nine  o'clock  peace  was  restored.  The  Abbe  Loraux  and 
Desroches  did  what  they  could  to  comfort  Agathe,  who  sat 
by  her  aunt's  pillow,  and  never  ceased  crying;  but  she  only 
listened  and  shook  her  head,  preserving  obstinate  silence; 
only  Joseph  and  Madame  Descoings  knew  the  depth  and  ex 
tent  of  the  inward  wound. 

"He  will  do  better,  mother,"  said  Joseph  at  last,  when  Des- 
roches and  Bixiou  were  gone. 

"Oh!"  cried  the  poor  woman,  '^Dut  he  is  right.  Philippe 
is  right !  My  father  cursed  me ;  I  have  no  right.  .  .  Here 
is  the  money,"  she  went  on  to  Mndame  Descoings,  adding 
Joseph's  three  hundred  francs  to  the  two  hundred  found  in 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


81 


Philippe's  possession.  "Go  and  see  if  your  brother  wants 
something  to  drink,"  she  said  to  Joseph. 

"Will  you  keep  a  promise  made  to  a  dying  woman?"  asked 
the  old  woman,  feeling  that  her  mind  was  going. 

"Yes,  aunt." 

"Then  swear  to  me  to  hand  over  your  money  to  that  young 
Desroches  for  an  annuity.  You  will  miss  my  little  income^ 
and  from  all  I  hear  you  say  I  know  you  will  let  that  wretch 
squeeze  you  to  the  last  sou  " 

"Aunt,  I  swear  it." 

The  old  woman  died  on  the  31st  of  December,  five  days 
after  the  fatal  blow  so  innocently  dealt  her  by  the  elder  Des- 
roches. The  five  hundred  francs,  all  the  money  there  was  in 
the  house,  barely  sufficed  to  pay  the  expenses  of  her 
:r'uneral.  She  left  a  very  little  plate  and  furniture,  of  which 
Madame  Bridau  paid  the  value  to  her  grandson. 

Eeduced  now  to  eight  hundred  francs  a  year,  the  annuity 
j)aid  her  by  the  younger  Desroches — who  concluded  the  pur- 
chase of  a  business,  at  present  without  clients,  and  took  her 
twelve  thousand  francs  as  capital — Agathe-  gave  up  her  rooms 
'Dn  the  third  floor  and  sold  all  but  the  most  necessary  furni- 
ture. When,  at  the  end  of  a  month,  Philippe  was  con- 
valescent, his  mother  coldly  explained  to  him  that  the  ex- 
penses of  his  illness  had  absorbed  all  hei  ready  money ;  hence- 
forth she  must  work  for  her  living,  and  she  entreated  him  in 
the  most  affectionate  manner  to  rejoin  the  army  and  provide 
for  himself. 

"You  might  have  saved  yourself  your  sermon,"  said 
Philippe,  looking  at  his  mother  with  eyes  cold  from  utter  in- 
difference. "I  have  very  clearly  seen  that  neither  you  nor 
my  brother  love  me  in  the  least.  I  am  alone  in  the  world 
now !    Well,  I  prefer  it  so." 

"Prove  yourself  worthy  to  be  loved,"  replied  the  poor 
mother,  wounded  to  the  quick,  "and  we  shall  love  you  again." 

"Fiddlesticks !"  said  he,  interrupting  her. 

He  took  his  old  hat,  all  worn  at  the  edges,  and  his  stick, 
Btuck  the  hat  over  his  ear,  and  went  downstairs  whistling. 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


"Philippe !  where  are  you  off  to  without  any  money  cried 
his  mother,  who  could  not  restrain  her  tears.    "Here  " 

She  held  out  a  hundred  francs  done  up  in  paper.  Philippe 
came  up  the  steps  he  had  gone  down  and  took  the  money. 

"And  you  do  not  kiss  me  ?"  said  she,  melting  into  tears. 

He  clasped  her  to  his  breast,  without  any  of  the  effusive 
feeling  which  alone  gives  value  to  a  kiss. 

"And  where  are  you  going?"  said  Agathe. 

"To  Florentine,  Giroudeau's  mistress.  They  really  are 
friends !"  he  replied  coarsely. 

He  went.  Agathe  returned  to  her  room,  her  knees  quaking, 
her  eyes  dim,  her  heart  in  a  vise.  She  fell  on  her  knees,  be- 
sought God  to  protect  her  unnatural  son,  and  abdicated  the 
burden  of  motherhood. 

In  February  1822  Madame  Bridau  had  established  her- 
self in  the  bedroom  formerly  occupied  by  Philippe,  over  the 
kitchen  of  her  third-floor  rooms.  The  painter's  bedroom  and 
studio  were  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  landing.  Seeing  his 
mother  reduced  so  low,  Joseph  was  determined  that  she  should 
be  as  comfortable  as  possible.  After  his  brother  had  left  he 
took  the  arrangement  of  the  attic  in  hand,  and  gave  it  an 
artistic  stamp.  He  put  in  a  carpet;  the  bed,  very  simply 
arranged,  but  with  exquisite  taste,  had  a  character  of 
monastic  simplicity.  The  walls,  hung  with  cheap  chintz, 
judiciously  chosen  of  a  color  to  harmonize  with  the  furniture, 
which  was  cleaned  to  look  like  new,  made  the  little  room  look 
neat  and  elegant.  He  had  a  door  made  to  shut  in  the  landing, 
and  hung  it  with  a  curtain.  The  window  was  screened  by  a 
blind  that  subdued  the  light.  Thus,  though  the  poor  mother's 
life  was  restricted  to  the  simplest  expression  which  a  woman's 
life  in  Paris  can  be  reduced  to,  Agathe  was  at  any  rate  'setter 
off  than  anybody  in  a  similar  position,  thanks  to  her  son. 

To  spare  his  mother  the  worst  fatigues  of  housekeeping, 
Joseph  took  her  to  dine  every  day  at  a  table  d'hote  in  the  Rue 
de  Beaune  frequented  by  ladies  of  respectability,  deputies,  and 
men  of  title,  where  the  charge  for  each  person  was  ninety 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


83 


francs  a  month.  Agathe,  having  only  the  breakfast  to  pro- 
vide, fell  into  the  same  habits  for  her  son  as  she  had  kept  up 
for  his  father.  In  spite  of  Joseph's  pious  fibs,  she  somehow 
found  out  that  her  dinner  cost  about  a  hundred  francs  a 
month.  Horrified  by  this  enormous  expenditure,  and  never 
supposing  that  her  son  could  earn  much  by  "painting  naked 
women,^^  by  the  influence  of  her  director,  the  Abbe  Loraux, 
she  obtained  the  promise  of  a  place  with  seven  hundred  francs 
a  year,  in  a  lottery-ticket  office  granted  by  Government  to  the 
Comtesse  de  Bauvan,  the  widow  of  a  Chouan  leader. 

These  lottery  offices,  bestowed  on  widows  who  had  friends 
at  Court,  not  unfrequently  were  the  whole  support  of  a 
family  who  managed  the  business  of  it.  But,  under  the 
Restoration,  the  difficulty  of  finding  rewards  in  the  gift  of  a 
constitutional  Government  for  all  the  services  that  had  been 
done,  led  to  the  practice  of  giving  to  impoverished  ladies  of 
rank  not  one,  but  two  such  lottery-ticket  offices,  of  which  the 
emoluments  might  be  from  six  to  ten  thousand  francs.  In 
such  cases  the  widow  of  a  general  or  a  nobleman  did  not  keep 
the  ticket-office  herself;  she  had  managers  with  a  sort  of  part- 
nership. When  these  managers  were  unmarried  men  they 
could  not  help  having  a  clerk  under  them,,  for  the  office 
always  had  to  be  kept  open  till  midnight,  and  the  accounts 
required  by  the  Minister  of  Finance  were  very  elaborate. 

The  Comtesse  de  Bauvan,  to  whom  the  Abb6  Loraux  ex- 
plained Madame  Bridau's  position,  promised  that  if  her 
present  manager  should  leave,  Agathe  should  have  the  re- 
version ;  meanwhile  she  bargained  for  a  salary  of  six  hundred 
francs  for  the  widow.  Compelled  to  be  at  her  work  by  ten 
in  the  morning,  poor  Agathe  had  scarcely  time  to  dine;  she 
returned  to  her  office  at  seven  in  the  evening,  and  never 
stirred  out  again  before  midnight.  Never  once  for  two  years 
did  Joseph  fail  to  call  for  his  mother  and  take  her  home,  and 
he  often  fetched  her  to  dinner.  His  friends  would  see  him 
leave  the  Opera,  the  Italiens,  or  the  most  splendid  drawing- 
rooms,  to  be  in  the  Rue  Vivienne  before  midnight. 

Agathe  soon  fell  into  the  monotonously  regular  way  of 


84 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


life,  which  often  is  a  comfort  and  support  to  sorrow-stricken 
souls.  In  the  morning,  after  tidying  her  rpom,  where  there 
were  now  no  cats  or  little  birds,  she  cooked  the  breakfast  at  a 
corner  of  her  fireplace,  and  laid  it  in  the  studio,  where  she  ate 
it  witli  her  son.  She  then  arranged  Joseph's  bedroom,  took 
off  her  fire,  and  brought  her  sewing  into  the  studio,  sitting 
by  the  little  stove,  and  leaving  the  room  if  he  had  a  visitor 
or  a  model.  Though  she  knew  nothing  of  art  or  its  processes, 
she  liked  the  stillness  of  the  place.  In  this  matter  she  made 
no  advance;  she  affected  nothing;  she  was  always  greatly 
astonished  at  the  importance  attached  to  color,  composition, 
and  drawing.  When  one  of  the  members  of  Joseph's  little 
club,  or  one  of  his  artist  friends,  was  discussing  such  matters 
— Schinner,  Pierre  Grassou,  or  Leon  de  Lora,  a  very  young 
student  then  known  by  the  name  of  Mistigris — she  would 
come  and  look  on  attentively,  and  never  discover  what  could 
give  occasion  to  such  big  words  and  hot  arguments. 

She  made  her  son's  linen,  mended  his  stockings  and  socks ; 
she  even  went  so  far  as  to  clean  his  palette,  collect  his  paint- 
ing-rags, and  keep  the  studio  in  order.  And  seeing  his  mother 
so  intelligently  careful  of  these  little  details,  Joseph  loaded 
her  v/ith  kindness.  If  the  mother  and  son  did  not  meet  half- 
way on  questions  of  art,  they  were  closely  united  by  affection. 

The  mother  had  a  scheme.  One  morning  when  she  had 
made  much  of  Joseph  while  he  was  sketching  an  enormous 
picture — which  he  subsequently  painted,  but  which  fell  fiat 
— she  ventured  to  say  aloud : 

"Oh,  dear !  I  wonder  what  he  is  doing  ?" 

"Who?" 

"Philippe.'^ 

"By  Jove!  the  fellow  is  having  a  hard  time.  It  will  do 
him  good." 

"But  he  has  had  hard  times  before,  and  perhaps  that  was 
what  spoilt  him  for  us.    If  he  were  happy,  he  would  be  good." 

"My  dear  mother,  you  fancy  that  he  was  in  distress  while 
he  was  away,  but  you  are  mistaken;  he  lived  at  hig  ease  in 
'New  York,  as  he  still  does  here  " 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


85 


"But  if  he  were  in  want,  near  us,  that  would  be  dread- 
ful  

"Yes,"  said  Joseph;  "and  for  my  part,  I  am  willing  to  give 
him  money,  but  I  will  not  see  him.  He  killed  poor  Aunt 
Descoings." 

"Then  you  would  not  paint  his  portrait  ?" 

"For  you,  mother,  I  would  suffer  martyrdom.  I  would 
remember  only  the  one  fact  that  he  is  my  brother." 

"His  portrait  as  a  Captain  of  Dragoons,  on  horseback?" 

'^Vell,  I  have  a  fine  horse  there,  copied  from  Gros,  and  I  do 
not  know  what  to  do  with  it." 

"Then  go  to  his  friend  and  find  out  what  has  become  of 
him." 

"I  will." 

Agathe  rose;  her  scissors,  everything  fell  on  the  floor;  she 
came  to  kiss  Joseph  on  his  forehead  and  shed  two  tears  on  his 
hair. 

"That  boy  is  your  passion,"  said  he.  "We  all  have  our  ill- 
starred  passion !" 

That  evening  Joseph  went  to  the  Kue  du  Sentier  at  about 
four  o'clock,  and  there  he  found  his  brother,  filling  Girou- 
deau's  place.  The  elder  captain  of  Dragoons  had  been  trans- 
ferred as  cashier  to  a  weekly  paper  managed  by  his  nephew. 
Though  Finot  was  still  proprietor  of  the  little  daily  paper 
for  which  he  had  issued  shares,  though  the  shares  were  all 
in  his  own  hands,  the  ostensible  owner  and  editor  was  a  friend 
of  his  named  Lousteau,  the  son,  as  it  happened,  of  the  sub- 
delegate  from  Issoudun  on  whom  Bridau's  grandfather 
(Doctor  Rouget)  had  wanted  to  be  revenged,  and  conse- 
quently Madame  Hochon's  nephew. 

To  oblige  his  uncle,  Finot  had  given  him  Philippe  as 
deputy,  paying  him,  hov/ever,  only  half  the  salary.  Every 
day  at  five  o'clock  Giroudeau  checked  the  balance  and  carried 
off  the  money  taken  during  the  day.  Coloquinte,  the  old 
soldier  who  served  as  messenger,  and  who  ran  the  errands,  also 
kept  an  eye  on  Major  Philippe.  Philippe,  however,  was 
behaving  himself.    A  salary  of  six  hundred  francs  and  a  pen- 


80 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


sion  of  five  hundred  were  enough  for  him  to  live  on,  all  the 
more  because  a  fire  was  provided  for  him  during  the  day,  and 
in  the  evenings  he  could  go  to  the  play  on  the  free  list,  so  he 
had  nothing  to  pay  for  but  food  and  lodging.  Coloquinte 
was  going  out,  loaded  with  stamped  papers,  and  Philippe  was 
brushing  his  green  linen  office  cuffs,  when  Joseph  walked  in. 

"Lord !  Here  is  the  brat,"  said  Philippe.  "Well,  we  will 
dine  together;  you  shall  come  to  the  Opera,  Florine  and 
Florentine  have  a  box.  I  am  going  with  Giroudeau ;  you  will 
be  of  the  party,  and  I  will  introduce  jou  to  Nathan." 

He  took  up  his  loaded  cane,  and  wetted  the  end  of  a  cigar. 

"I  cannot  avail  myself  of  your  invitation ;  I  must  look  after 
my  mother.    We  dine  at  the  table  d'hote/* 

"Well,  and  how  is  she,  poor  dear  thing  ?" 

"She  is  pretty  well,"  said  the  painter.  "I  have  made  a 
new  portrait  of  my  father  and  one  of  Aunt  Descoings.  I 
have  finished  one  of  myself,  and- 1  should  like  to  give  my 
mother  one  of  you  in  the  uniform  of  the  Imperial  Dragoon 
Guards." 

"All  right." 

"But  you  must  come  and  sit  " 

"I  am  obliged  to  be  here,  in  this  hen-coop,  every  day  fronv 
nine  till  five." 

"Two  Sundays  will  be  enough." 

"All  right,  young  'un,"  replied  Napoleon's  ere  while  staff - 
officer,  as  he  lighted  his  cigar  at  the  porter's  lamp. 

When  Joseph  described  Philippe's  position  to  his  mother, 
as  they  went  together  to  their  dinner  in  the  Rue  de  Beaune, 
he  felt  her  hand  tremble  on  his  arm ;  joy  lighted  up  the  faded 
face ;  the  poor  woman  drew  breath  as  though  she  had  been  re- 
lieved of  some  enormous  burden.  Next  day  she  was  full  of 
little  attentions  for  Joseph,  pjompted  by  her  happiness  and 
gratitude;  she  dressed  his  studio  with  flowers,  and  bought 
two  vases. 

The  first  Sunday  when  Philippe  was  to  sit,  Agathe  took 
care  to  provide  an  excellent  breakfast.  She  placed  everything 
on  the  table,  not  forgetting  a  flask  of  brandy,  not  more  than 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT  87 

half  full.  She  then  hid  herself  behind  a  screen,  in  which 
she  made  a  small  hole.  The  ex-dragoon  had  sent  his  uniform 
the  day  before,  and  she  could  not  refrain  from  hugging  it. 
When  Philippe  mounted,  in  full  dress,  on  one  of  the  stuffed 
horses  kept  by  saddlers,  which  Joseph  had  hired,  Agathe, 
not  to  betray  herself,  was  obliged  to  hide  the  slight  noise  of  her 
weeping  under  the  voices  of  the  two  brothers  as  they  talked. 

Philippe  sat  for  two  hours  before  and  two  hours  after 
breakfast.  At  three  in  the  afternoon  he  put  on  his  ordinary 
dress,  and,  while  smoking  a  cigar,  again  invited  his  brother 
to  dine  with  him  at  the  Palais  Royal.  He  jingled  the  gold  in 
his  pockets. 

"STo,"^  said  Joseph.  "You  frighten  me  when  I  see  you  with 
gold  about  you." 

"By  Heaven!  Then  you  still  have  a  bad  opinion  of  me 
here?"  roared  the  Lieutenant- Colonel  in  a  voice  of  thunder. 
"Do  you  think  a  man  can  never  save  ?" 

"^sTo,  no,"  said  Agathe,  coming  out  of  her  hiding-place,  and 
kissing  her  son    "We  will  go  and  dine  with  him,  J oseph." 

Joseph  dared  not  scold  his  mother ;  he  dressed,  and  Philippe 
took  them  to  the  Rue  Montorgueuil,  where,  at  the  Rocher  de 
Cancale,  he  gave  them  a  splendid  dinner,  for  which  the  bill 
ran  up  to  a  hundred  francs. 

"The  Devil!"  said  Joseph  uneasily.  "With  a  salary  of 
eleven  hundred  francs  a  year  you  manage,  like  Ponchard  in 
the  Dame  Blanche,  to  save  enough  to  purchase  an  estate  !" 

"Pooh,  I  am  in  luck,"  said  the  dragoon,  who  had  drunk  an 
enormous  quantity  of  wine. 

On  hearing  this  speech,  made  on  the  doorstep  just  as  they 
were  getting  into  a  hackney  coach  to  go  to  the  play — for 
Philippe  had  proposed  to  take  his  mother  to  the  Circus,  the 
only  entertainment  of  the  kind  allowed  her  by  her  director — 
Joseph  tightened  his  hand  on  his  mother's  arm.  Agathe  at 
once  said  she  felt  unwell,  and  declined  to  go  to  the  theatre,  so 
Philippe  took  her  and  his  brother  to  the  Rue  Mazarine.  When 
she  found  herself  alone  with  Joseph  in  their  attic,  she  sat 
long  lost  in  thought. 


88 


A  BACHELOK'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


On  the  next  Sunday  Philippe  came  again  to  sit.  This  time 
his  mother  sat  in  the  room  with  the  brothers.  She  brought 
in  the  breakfast,  and  could  ask  the  trooper  various  questions. 
She  then  learnt  that  the  nephew  of  her  mother's  old  friend, 
Madame  Hochon,  figured  in  a  small  way  in  literature. 
Philippe  and  his  ally  Giroudeau  lived  in  the  society  of  jour- 
nalists, actresses,  and  publishers,  and,  as  cashiers,  met  with 
some  respect.  Philippe,  who  always  took  drams  of  kirsch 
while  sitting  after  breakfast,  talked  freely.  He  boasted  of 
becoming  a  person  of  importance  again  ere  long.  But  at  a 
question  from  Joseph  as  to  his  pecuniary  means  he  kept 
silence. 

As  it  happened,  the  next  day  was  a  great  holiday,  and  the 
paper  was  not  to  come  out,  so  Philippe,  to  get  the  thing  done 
with,  proposed  to  come  and  sit  again  on  the  morrow.  Joseph 
explained  to  him  that  the  Salon  would  open  before  long, 
that  he  had  not  money  enough  to  buy  frames  for  his  pictures, 
and  could  only  earn  it  by  finishing  a  copy  of  a  Rubens  re- 
quired by  a  picture-dealer  named  Magus.  The  original  be- 
longed to  a  rich  Swiss  banker,  who  had  lent  it  only  for  ten 
days.  Next  day  would  be  the  last ;  it  was  therefore  absolutely 
necessary  to  put  otf  the  sitting  till  the  following  Sunday. 

"And  that  is  it?"  said  Philippe,  looking  at  a  painting  by 
Rubens  that  stood  on  an  easel. 

"Yes,''  said  Joseph.  "That  is  worth  twenty  thousand 
f  ranee.  That  is  what  genius  can  do.  There  are  such  squares 
of  canvas  that  are  worth  a  hundred  thousand  francs.'' 

"Well,  I  like  your  copy  best,"  said  the  dragoon. 

"It  is  fresher,"  said  Joseph,  laughing;  "but  my  copy  is 
only  worth  one  thousand  francs.  I  must  have  to-morrow  to 
give  the  old  tone  and  look  of  the  original,  that  they  may  be 
indistinguishable." 

"Good-bye,  mother,"  said  Philippe,  embracing  Agathe,  "till 
next  Sunday." 

On  the  following  day  Ellie  Magus  was  to  come  for  his  copy. 
A  friend  of  Joseph's,  who  often  worked  for  the  dealer, 
Pierre  Grassou,  wished  to  see  the  copy  finished.    To  play 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


him  a  trick,  Joseph  jDut  his  copy,  glazed  with  a  particular 
varnish,  in  the  place  of  the  original,  which  he  set  np  on  his 
easel.  Pierre  Grassou  de  Fougeres  was  completely  taken  in 
and  amazed  at  the  extraordinary  imitation. 

"Will  yon  take  in  old  Magus  ?"  said  Pierre  Grassou. 

"That  remains  to  be  seen,"  said  Joseph. 

But  the  dealer  did  not  come,  and  it  was  late.    Agathe  was 
to  dine  with  Madame  Desroches,  who  had  just  lost  her  hus-^ 
band ;  so  Joseph  proposed  to  Grassou  to  come  and  dine  at  his 
table  d'hote.    On  going  out  he  left  the  key  of  the  studio,  as 
he  always  did,  with  the  woman  who  kept  the  house  door. 

"I  am  going  to  sit  to  my  brother  this  evening,^'  said 
Philippe  to  this  woman  an  hour  later.  "He  will  be  in 
presently,  and  I  will  wait  for  him  in  the  studio." 

The  woman  gave  him  the  key.  Philippe  went  up,  took  the 
copy,  thinking  it  was  the  original,  came  down,  gave  back  the 
key,  explaining  that  he  had  forgotten  something,  and  went  off 
with  the  Rubens  to  sell  it  for  three  thousand  francs.  He  had 
taken  the  precaution  of  telling  Elie  Magus,  from  his  brother, 
not  to  call  till  the  next  day.  At  night,  when  Joseph  came  in 
after  fetching  his  mother  from  Madame  Desroches',  the  porter 
told  him  of  Philippe's  vagaries,  coming  away  almost  as  soon 
as  he  had  gone  in. 

"If  he  has  not  had  the  good  taste  to  take  the  copy,  I  am  a 
ruined  man !"  exclaimed  the  painter,  at  once  guessing  the 
theft.  He  flew  up  the  three  flights  of  stairs  and  into  the 
studio,  and  exclaimed,  "Thank  God !  He  has  been  what  he 
will  be  to  the  end — a  fool  and  a  knave." 

Agathe,  who  had  followed  Joseph,  did  not  understand  this 
exclamation ;  but  when  her  son  explained  it,  she  simply  stood 
still,  dry-eyed. 

"I  have  but  one  son  !"  she  said  in  a  weak  voice. 

"We  have  always  avoided  disgracing  him  before  strangers," 
replied  Joseph.  "But  we  must  now  tell  the  porter  he  is  never 
to  be  admitted.  Henceforth  we  must  carry  our  keys. — I  will 
finish  the  portrait  from  memory,  there  is  little  to  be  done  to 

it:' 


90 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENl- 


''^Leave  it  as  it  is ;  it  would  make  me  too  unhappy,"  replied 
his  mother,  stricken  to  the  heart,  and  appalled  by  such  mean- 
ness. 

Philippe  knew  what  the  price  of  this  copy  was  needed  for, 
knew  the  gulf  of  difficulty  into  which  he  was  flinging  his 
brother,  and  nothing  had  deterred  him.  After  this  last  crime, 
Agathe  would  never  mention  Philippe;  her  face  assumed  a 
look  of  bitter,  deep,  and  concentrated  despair.  One  thought' 
was  killing  her.  ^ 

"Some  day,"  she  said  to  herself,  "we  shall  see  the  name  of 
Bridau  in  the  criminal  courts." 

Two  months  after  this,  just  before  Agathe  entered  on  her 
duties  at  the  lottery  office,  a  soldier  called  one  morning  to  see 
Madame  Bridau,  who  was  at  breakfast  with  Joseph,  announc- 
ing himself  as  a  friend  of  Philippe's  on  urgent  business. 

When  Giroudeau  mentioned  his  name  the  mother  and  son 
quailed,  all  the  more  because  the  ex-dragoon  had  a  rough, 
weather-beaten  sailor's  countenance  that  was  anything  rather 
than  reassuring.  His  ashy  gray  eyes,  his  piebald  moustache, 
the  remaining  tufts  of  hair  brushed  up  '  round  his  butter- 
colored  bald  head,  had  an  indescribably  unwholesome  and  li- 
centious look.  He  wore  an  old  iron-gray  overcoat,  with  the 
rosette  of  an  officer  of  the  Legion  of  Honor ;  it  was  buttoned 
with  difficulty  over  a  stomach  like  a  cook's,  quite  in  keeping 
with  a  mouth  that  opened  from  ear  to  ear,  and  broad  shoulders. 
This  frame  was  carried  on  a  pair  of  thin  legs.  His  com- 
plexion, with  the  high  color  on  the  cheek-bones,  betrayed  a 
jovial  life.  The  lower  part  of  his  cheeks  was  deeply  wrinkled, 
and  overlapped  his  worn  black  velvet  collar.  Among  other 
decorative  touches,  the  ex-dragoon  had  in  his  ears  an  enormous 
pair  of  gold  earrings. 

"What  a  sot !"  said  Joseph  to  himself. 

"Madame,"  said  Finot's  uncle  and  cashier,  "your  son  is  in 
such  an  unfortunate  predicament  that  his  friends  cannot  help 
applying  to  you  to  beg  you  to  share  the  very  considerable  ex- 
penses he  involves  them  in.    He  can  no  longer  do  his  work  for 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


91 


the  paper;  and  Mademoiselle  Florentine  of  the  Porte  Saint- 
Martin  has  given  him  a  room  in  a  miserable  attic  in  the  Rue 
Vendome,  where  she  lives.  Philippe  is  dying ;  if  you  and  his 
brother  cannot  pay  for  the  doctor  and  the  medicine,  we  shall 
be  obliged,  for  his  own  sake  and  cure,  to  have  him  taken  to 
the  Capacins.  But  we  will  keep  him  ourselves  for  three  hun- 
dred francs;  he  must  positively  have  a  nurse;  he  goes  out  in^ 
the  evening  while  Mademoiselle  Florentine  is  at  the  theatre, 
and  he  takes  irritant  drinks,  bad  for  his  malady,  and  contrary 
to  rule.  And  we  are  attached  to  him ;  it  really  makes  us  un- 
happy. The  poor  fellow  has  pledged  his  pension  for  three 
years;  a  substitute  has  been  found  for  the  moment  to  fill  his 
place,  and  he  gets  no  pay.  But  he  will  kill  himself,  madame, 
if  we  cannot  put  him  in  the  asylum  kept  by  Doctor  Dubois. 
It  is  a  decent  place  and  the  charge  is  ten  francs  a  day.  Flor- 
entine and  I  will  pay  for  half  a  month's  treatment  there,  do 
you  pay  the  rest.  .  .  .  Come,  it  will  not  be  for  more  than 
/;wo  months." 

"Indeed,  monsieur,  as  a  mother  I  cannot  but  be  eternally 
grateful  for  all  you  are  doing  for  my  son,"  replied  Agathe. 
"But  that  son  has  cut  himself  off  from  my  affection;  and  as 
for  money — I  have  none.  To  avoid  being  a  burden  on  this 
son,  who  works  night  and  day,  and  is  killing  himself,  who  de- 
serves all  his  mother's  love,  I  am  going,  the  day  after  to-mor- 
row, into  a  lottery  ticket  office  as  assistant  clerk. — At  my  age  !" 

"And  you,  young  man  ?"  said  the  trooper  to  Joseph.  "Come, 
will  not  you  do  as  much  for  your  brother  as  a  dancer  at  the 
Porte  Saint-Martin  and  an  old  soldier  ?" 

"Look  here!"  said  Joseph,  out  of  patience.  "Would  you 
like  me  to  tell  you  in  the  plainest  language  what  was  the  pur- 
pose of  your  visit  ?    You  came  to  try  to  fleece  us." 

"Well,  then,  to-morrow  your  brother  will  go  to  the 
hospital." 

"He  will  be  very  well  looked  after,"  said  Joseph.  "If  ever 
1  should  be  in  the  same  plight,  I  should  go  there  myself !" 

Giroudeau  went  away,  much  disappointed,  but  also  very 
Beriously  grieved  at  having  to  send  a  man  who  had  been  on 
VOL,  4—33 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTAfeLISHMEKl' 

ISTapoleon's  staff  at  the  battle  of  Montereau  to  the  hospital  of 
the  Capucins. 

Three  months  after  thiS;,  one  morning  towards  the  end  of 
July,  Agathe,  on  her  way  to  her  office,  crossing  the  Pont 
Nenf  to  save  the  toll  of  a  son  on  the  Pont  des  Arts,  saw  a  man 
lounging  by  the  shops  of  the  Quai  de  Ecole  as  she  walked 
.  along  by  the  river  parapet.  He  wore  the  livery  of  the  second 
degree  of  poverty,  and  she  was  startled,  for  she  thought  he 
resembled  Philippe. 

There  are,  in  fact,  three  degress  of  poverty  in  Paris.  First, 
that  of  the  men  who  keep  up  appearances,  and  who  have  the 
future  before  them;  the  poverty  of  young  men,  artists,  men 
of  the  world  who  are  down  on  their  luck.  The  symptoms  of 
this  kind  of  want  are  visible  only  to  the  microscope  of  the 
most  practised  observer.  These  people  constitute  the  knight- 
hood of  poverty ;  they  still  ride  in  a  cab.  In  the  second  rank 
are  old  men,  to  whom  everything  is  a  matter  of  indifference, 
who,  in  the  mionth  of  June,  display  the  Cross  of  the  Legion 
of  Honor  on  an  alpaca  coat.  This  is  the  poverty  of  old 
annuitants,  old  clerks  living  at  Sainte-Perine,  careless  now 
about  their  appearance.  Last  comes  poverty  in  rags,  the 
poverty  of  the  common  people,  and  the  most  poetical  of  all; 
studied  by  Callot  and  Hogarth,  by  Murillo,  Charlet,  Raffet, 
Gavarni,  Meissonier ;  adored  and  cultivated  by  Art,  especially 
at  the  Carnival ! 

The  man  in  whom  the  unhappy  Agathe  fancied  she  recog- 
nized her  son  had,  as  it  were,  one  foot  on  each  of  these  two 
lowest  steps.  She  saw  a  horribly  starchless  collar,  a  mangy 
hat,  broken  and  patched  boots,  a  threadbare  overcoat  with 
buttons  that  had  lost  their  mould,  while  their  empty  gaping 
or  twisted  skins  matched  the  torn  pockets  and  greasy  collar. 
Traces  of  flue  on  the  cloth  plainly  revealed  that  if  there  were 
anything  in  those  pockets,  it  could  only  be  dust.  Out  of  a 
pair  of  ripped  iron-gray  trousers  the  man  drew  hands  as  dirty 
as  a  workman's.  Over  his  breast  a  knitted  woolen  undervest, 
tawny  with  long  wear,  of  which  the  sleeves  came  below  those 
of  the  coat,  and  the  edge  was  pulled  outside  the  trousers, 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


93 


served  visibly  and  undoubtedly  as  a  substitute  for  linen. 
Philippe  wore  a  shade  over  his  eyes  of  green  silk  stretched  on 
wire.  His  head,  almost  bald,  his  color,  and  hollow  cheeks 
showed  that  he  had  just  come  out  of  that  dreadful  hospital. 

His  blue  military  coat,  though  white  at  the  seams,  still 
displayed  his  Rosette.  Thus  every  passer-by  looked  at  this 
veteran,  a  victim  of  the  Government  no  doubt,  with  curiosity, 
mingled  with  pity;  for  the  Rosette  attracted  the  eye,  and 
suggested  honorable  fears  for  the  Legion  of  Honor,  even  in 
the  most  rabid  ultras.  At  that  time,  though  an  attempt  had 
been  made  to  cast  a  slur  on  the  Order  by  reckless  promotions, 
not  more  than  fifty-three  thousand  persons  in  France  had  the 
right  to  display  it. 

Agathe  was  thrilled  to  the  marrow.  Though  she  could  not 
possibly  love  this  son  of  hers,  she  still  could  suffer  acutely 
through  him.  Touched  by  a  last  gleam  of  motherly  feeling, 
she  shed  tears  as  she  saw  the  dashing  staff-officer  make  as 
though  he  would  go  into  a  tobacconist's  to  buy  a  cigar,  and 
stop  on  the  threshold;  he  had  felt  in  his  pockets  and  found 
nothing.  Agathe  hastily  crossed  the  road,  drew  out  her 
purse,  pushed  it  into  Philippe's  hand,  and  fled  as  if  she  had 
committed  a  crime. 

For  two  days  after  she  could  eat  nothing;  she  constantly 
saw  before  her  the  horrible  vision  of  her  son  dying  of  hunger 
in  Paris. 

"When  he  has  spent  the  money  in  my  purse,  who  will  give 
him  any?"  thought  she.  "Giroudeau  was  not  deceiving  us; 
Philippe  has  just  come  out  of  the  hospital." 

She  no  longer  saw  her  poor  aunt's  murderer,  the  scourge 
of  the  family,  the  domestic  thief,  the  gambler,  drunkard,  low 
debauchee;  what  she  saw  was  a  discharged  patient  dying  of 
hunger,  a  smoker  bereft  of  tobacco.  At  seven-and-forty  she 
looked  like  a  woman  of  seventy.  Her  eyes  grew  dim  in  tears 
and  prayer. 

But  this  was  not  the  last  blow  to  be  dealt  her  by  this  dread- 
ful son;  her  worst  anticipations  were  to  be  realized.  A  con- 
spiracy was  discovered  of  officers  on  service,  and  the  para- 


94 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


graphs  of  the  Moniteur  containing  the  details  of  the  arrests 
were  shouted  in  the  streets.  In  the  recesses  of  her  little 
coop,  in  the  lottery  office  in  the  Eue  Vivienne,  Agathe  heard 
the  name  of  Philippe  Bridau.  She  fainted  away;  and  the 
head-clerk,  understanding  her  grief  and  the  necessity  for  her 
taking  some  action,  gave  her  a  fortnight^s  leave  of  absence. 

"Ah,  my  dear !  We,  with  our  austerity,  have  driven  him  to 
this,^^  she  said  to  Joseph,  as  she  went  to  lie  down. 

"I  will  go  to  see  Desroches,"  said  Joseph. 

The  artist  went  off  to  place  his  brother's  case  in  the  hands 
of  Desroches,  who  was  regarded  as  the  craftiest  and  astutest 
attorney  in  Paris,  and  who  had  rendered  good  service  to 
various  persons  of  importance,  among  others  to  des  Lupeaulx, 
at  that  time  Chief  Secretary  in  a  Minister's  office.  Mean- 
while Giroudeau  came  to  call  on  the  widow,  who  trusted  him 
this  time. 

"Madame,"  said  he,  "find  twelve  thousand  francs,  and  your 
son  will  be  released  for  want  of  evidence.  We  have  only 
to  purchase  the  silence  of  two  witnesses." 

"I  will  get  them,"  said  the  poor  mother,  not  knowing  how 
or  whence. 

Inspired  by  the  danger,  she  wrote  to  her  godmother  Mad- 
ame Hochon  to  beg  them  of  Jean-Jacques  Rouget,  to  save 
Philippe.  If  Rouget  should  refuse,  she  entreated  Madame 
Hochon  to  lend  her  the  money,  promising  to  repay  it  in  two 
years.    By  return  of  post  she  received  the  following  letter : — 

"My  dear  Child, — Though  your  brother  has,  first  and  last, 
forty  thousand  francs  a  year,  to  say  nothing  of  the  money 
he  has  saved  in  the  last  seventeen  years,  which  Monsieur 
Hochon  estimates  at  more  than  six  hundred  thousand  francs, 
he  will  not  spend  two  farthings  on  the  nephews  he  has  never 
seen.  As  for  me — ^you  cannot  know  that  so  long  as  my  hus- 
band lives  I  shall  never  have  six  francs  to  call  my  own. 
Hochon  is  the  greatest  miser  in  Issoudun ;  I  do  not  know  what 
he  does  with  his  money;  he  docs  not  give  his  grandchildren 
twenty  francs  in  a  year.    To  borrow  it  I  should  have  to  ask 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


95 


his  leave,  and  he  would  not  give  it.  I  have  not  even  at- 
tempted to  speak  with  your  brother,  who  keeps  a  woman, 
whose  very  humble  servant  he  is.  It  is  pitiable  to  see  how  the 
poor  man  is  treated  in  his  own  house  when  he  has  a  sister  and 
nephews. 

"I  have  hinted  to  you  several  times  that  your  presence  at 
Issoudun  might  save  your  brother,  and  rescue  from  the 
clutches  of  that  hussy  a  fortune  of  forty  or  even  sixty  thou- 
sand francs  a  year;  but  you  do  not  answer  me,  or  seem  not 
to  have  understood  me.  So  I  write  to  you  to-day  without  any 
circumlocution.  I  sympathize  deeply  with  the  misfortune 
that  has  come  upon  you,  but  J  can  give  you  nothing  but  pity, 
my  dearest  child. 

"This  is  why  I  can  do  nothing  to  help  you :  Hochon,  at  the 
age  of  eighty-five,  eats  his  four  meals  a  day,  sups  off  hard- 
boiled  eggs  and  salad,  and  is  as  brisk  as  a  rabbit.  I  shall 
have  lived  all  my  days — for  he  will  write  my  epitaph — with- 
out ever  having  had  twenty  francs  in  my  purse.  If  you  like 
to  come  to  Issoudun  to  combat  the  influence  of  your  brother's 
concubine,  though  there  are  good  reasons  why  Eouget  should 
not  receive  you  into  his  house,  I  shall  find  it  difficult  to  obtain 
my  husband's  permission  to  invite  you  to  mine.  Still,  you 
can  come;  he  will  give  way  on  that  point.  I  know  a  way  of 
getting  what  I  want  in  some  things,  and  that  is  by  talking  of 
my  will.  This  seems  to  me  so  atrocious  that  I  have  never  yet 
had  recourse  to  it ;  but  for  you  I  v/ould  do  the  impossible.  I 
hope  your  Philippe  will  get  out  of  the  scrape,  especially  if  you 
have  a  good  advocate;  but  come  to  Issoudun  as  soon  as  you 
can.  Eemember  that  your  brother,  at  fifty-seven,  is  older 
and  more  frail  than  Monsieur  Hochon.    So  the  case  is  urgent. 

"Already  there  are  rumors  of  a  will  depriving  you  of  your 
inheritance;  but  by  Monsieur  Hochon's  account  there  is  yet 
time  to  procure  its  revocation. 

"Farewell,  my  little  Agathe.  God  be  with  you.  And  rely 
on  your  godmother  too,  for  she  loves  you. 

"Maximilienne  liocHON^  nee  Lousteau= 


96 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


''P.  S. — Has  my  nephew  ."Etienne,  who  writes  for  the  papers.^ 
and  is  intimate,  I  am  told,  with  your  son  Philippe,  ever  been 
to  pay  his  respects  to  you  ? — But  only  come,  and  we  w  ill  talk 
about  him/^ 

This  letter  gave  Agathe  much  to  think  about;  of  course 
she  shov/ed  it  to  Joseph,  to  whom  she  was  obliged  to  confide 
Girou dean's  suggestion.  The  artist,  who  was  cautious  when 
his  brother  was  concerned,  pointed  out  to  his  mother  that  she 
ought  to  lay  it  all  before  Desroches.  Struck  by  the  truth  of 
this  remark,  she  and  her  spn  went  next  day,  at  six  in  the 
morning,  to  call  on  Desroches  in  the  Rue  de  Bussy. 

The  lawyer,  as  lean  as  his  father  before  him,  with  a  harsh 
voice,  a  coarse  skin,  pitiless  eyes,  and  a  face  like  a  ferret's 
licking  the  blood  of  murdered  chickens  off  its  lips,  sprang  like 
a  tiger  when  he  heard  of  Giroudeau's  call. 

"Bless  me,  mother  Bridau,"  he  cried  in  his  shrill,  hard 
voice,  "how  long  will  you  continue  to  be  the  dupe  of  youi 
cursed  scoundrel  of  a  son?  Do  not  give  him  a  farthing.  .1 
will  be  responsible  for  Philippe ;  it  is  to  save  him  in  the  future 
that  I  shall  leave  him  to  the  sentence  of  the  superior  Court. 
You  quail  at  the  idea  of  his  being  found  guilty,  but  God  grant 
that  his  counsel  may  fail  to  get  him  off.  You,  go  to  Issoudun; 
save  your  fortune  and  that  of  your  children.  If  you  do  not 
succeed,  if  your  brother  has  made  his  will  in  that  woman's 
favor,  and  you  cannot  get  him  to  revoke  it — well,  at  any  rate, 
collect  the  materials  for  proving  undue  influence,  and  I  will 
conduct  the  case.  But  there!  You  are  too  good  a  woman 
to  know  how  to  find  out  the  grounds  for  such  an  action.  In 
the  holidays  I  will  go  myself  to  Issoudun — if  I  possibly  can." 

And  this  "I  will  go  myself"  made  the  artist  shiver  in  his 
skin, 

Desroches  winlced  at  Joseph  as  a  sign  that  he  should  let 
his  mother  go  downstairs  first,  and  detained  him  for  an  in- 
stant. 

"Your  brother  is  a  base  wretch ;  he,  voluntarily  or  involun- 
tarily, is  the  cause  of  the  discovery  of  the  conspiracy ;  for  the 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


07 


rascal  is  so  cunning  that  it  is  impossible  to  find  out  the  truth 
about  it.  Fool  or  traitor — I  leave  you  to  choose  between 
them.  He  will  no  doubt  be  placed  under  the  eye  of  the  de- 
tective police;  but  that  is  all.  Be  quite  easy;  I  alone  know 
even  this  much.  Hurry  off  to  Issoudun  with  your  mother. 
You  have  all  your  wits ;  try  to  save  the  inheritance.^' 

"Come,  poor  mother,  Desroches  is  right,"  said  Joseph,  re- 
joining Agathe  on  the  stairs.  "I  have  sold  my  pictures;  let 
us  set  out  for  le  Berry,  as  you  have  a  fortnight's  leave." 

Having  written  to  her  godmother  to  announce  their  arrival, 
Agathe  and  Joseph  started  next  day  for  Issoudun,  leaving 
Philippe  to  his  fate.  The  diligence  went  down  the  Eue  dc 
FEnfer  to  take  the  Orleans  road.  When  Agathe  saw  the 
Luxembourg,  whither  Philippe  had  been  transferred,  she 
could  not  help  saying : 

"After  all,  but  for  the  Allies  he  would  not  be  there  now !" 

Many  sons  would  have  given  an  impatient  shrug  or  smiled 
in  pity;  but  Joseph,  who  was  alone  with  her  in  the  coupe  of 
the  diligence,  threw  his  arms  round  her,  and  pressed  her  to 
his  heart,  saying,  "Oh,  mother !  you  are  a  mother  as  Raphael 
was  a  painter !  And  you  always  will  be  a  dear  goose  of  a 
mother !" 

Aroused  from  her  troubles  by  the  amusement  of  the  jour- 
ney, Madame  Bridau  was  presently  obliged  to  think  of  the 
purpose  of  her  visit.  Of  course,  she  re-read  Madame 
Hochon's  letter,  which  had  so  strongly  excited  Desroches. 
Struck  by  such  words  as  "concubine"  and  "hussy,"  traced 
by  the  pen  of  an  old  woman  of  seventy,  as  pious  as  she  was  re- 
spectable, to  designate  the  woman  who  was  absorbing  Jean- 
J acques  Rouget's  fortune,  while  he  himself  was  spoken  of  as  a 
poor  creature,  she  began  to  wonder  how  her  presence  at  Is- 
soudun could  avail  to  save  her  inheritance.  Joseph,  an  artist, 
poor  and  disinterested,  knew  little  of  the  law,  and  his  mother's 
exclamation  puzzled  him. 

"Before  sending  us  off  to  protect  our  inheritance,  our 
friend  Desroches  would  have  done  well  to  explain  to  us  how 
we  can  be  robbed  of  it,"  said  he. 


08 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


"So  far  as  my  memory  serves  me — but  my  head  was  full 
of  the  notion  of  Philippe  in  prison,  without  a  pipe  even  per- 
haps, and  on  the  eve  of  standing  his  trial  before  the  superior 
court" — said  Agathe,  "I  fancy  Desroches  said  we  were  to 
collect  materials  for  an  action  against  undue  influence  if  it 
should  appear  that  my  brother  has  made  his  will  in  favor  of 
thi  s — this — wom  an. " 

"A  good  joke  for  Desroches!"  cried  Joseph,  ^^ell,  if  we 
'can  make  nothing  of  it,  I  will  ask  him  to  go  himself." 

"Do  not  let  us  rack  our  brains  for  nothing,"  said  Agathe. 
"When  we  are  there,  my  godmother  will  advise  us." 

This  conversation,  held  at  the  moment  when,  after  changing 
coach  at  Orleans,  Madame  Bridau  and  Joseph  were  entering 
the  district  of  Sologne,  sufficiently  betrays  the  incapacity  of 
both  the  artist  and  his  mother  to  play  the  part  the  terrible 
attorney  had  assigned  to  them. 

But  on  returning  to  Issoudun  after  an  absence  of  thirty 
years,  Agathe  found  the  manners  of  the  place  so  altered,  that 
a  slight  sketch  of  the  life  of  the  town  is  indispensable.  With- 
out such  a  picture,  it  would  be  difficult  to  understand  Madame 
Hochon's  real  heroism  in  trying  to  help  her  goddaughter^, 
or  Jean-Jacques  Eouget's  extraordinary  position. 

Though  the  doctor  had  made  his  son  regard  Agathe  as  a 
stranger,  still,  in  a  brother,  there  was  something  rather  ex- 
traordinary in  living  for  thirty  years  without  giving  his  sister 
any  sign  of  his  existence.  This  silence  must  evidently  have  its 
cause  in  some  unusual  circumstances  which  any  relations  but 
Agathe  and  Joseph  would  long  since  have  insisted  on  know- 
ing. And,  in  fact,  there  was  a  certain  connection  between  the 
state  of  the  town  and  the  Bridaus'  concerns,  which  will  come 
to  light  in  the  course  of  this  narrative. 

With  all  due  respect  to  Paris,  Issoudun  is  one  of  the  oldest 
towns  in  France.  Notwithstanding  historical  prejudice,  which 
insists  on  regarding  the  Emperor  Probus  as  the  Noah  of  Gaul, 
Caesar  v/rites  of  the  fine  wine  of  Champ-Fort  (de  Campo 
Forti),  one  of  the  finest  vintages  of  Issoudun.    Kigord  men- 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


99 


tions  the  town  in  terms  which  allow  of  no  doubt  as  to  its  large 
population  and  extensive  commerce.  Still,  these  two  author- 
ities would  give  Issoudun  a  moderate  antiquity  in  comparison 
with  its  really  immense  age.  Excavations,  lately  made  by  a 
learned  archaeologist  of  the  town.  Monsieur  Armand  Peremet, 
have  led  to  the  discovery  of  a  basilica  of  the  fifth  century — 
probably  the  only  example  in  France — under  the  famous 
tower  of  Issoudun.  This  church  preserves  in  the  materials 
of  which  it  is  built  the  record  of  a  previous  civilization;  for 
the  stones  are  those  of  a  Eoman  temple  of  earlier  date.  And, 
indeed,  the  researches  of  this  antiquary  show  that  Issoudun, 
like  all  French  towns  of  which  the  name,  ancient  or  modern, 
ends  in  dun  —  dunum,  contains  in  its  name  a  certificate  of 
native  origin.  The  syllable  dun,  attaching  to  every  hill  con- 
secrated to  the  religion  of  the  Druids,  shows  it  to  have  been 
a  Celtic  military  and  religious  centre.  The  Eomans  then 
may  have  built  at  the  foot  of  the  Dun  of  the  Gauls  a  temple 
to  Isis ;  hence,  according  to  Chaumon,  the  name  of  the  town, 
Ts-sous-dun  (Is[is]-under-hill) — Is'  being  an  abbreviated 
form  of  Isis. 

Eichard  Coeur  de  Lion  undoubtedly  built  the  famous  tower, 
where  he  coined  money,  over  a  basilica  of  the  fifth  century, 
the  third  sanctuary  of  the  third  religion  of  this  ancient  city. 
He  made  use  of  the  church  as  a  base  which  he  needed  to  add 
to  the  height  of  his  ramparts,  and  preserved  it  by  covering 
it  with  his  feudal  fortifications  as  with  a  cloak.  Issoudun 
next  became  the  seat  of  the  transient  authority  of  the  Routiers 
and  Cottereaux,  bands  of  brigands  with  which  Henri  II.  op- 
posed his  son  Eichard  when  he  rebelled  as  Count  of  PoitoUo 
The  history  of  Aquitaine,  not  having  been  written  by  the 
Benedictines,  will  now  probably  never  be  written,  as  there  are 
no  more  Benedictines.  Hence  it  is  well  to  throw  every  pos- 
sible light  on  these  archgeological  obscurities  whenever  an 
opportunity  offers. 

There  is  still  further  evidence  of  the  ancient  importance  of 
Issoudun  in  the  use  rxiade  of  the  little  Tournemine  river, 
Thich  has  been  raised  for  a  considerable  distance  on  an  aque- 


100 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


duct  several  yards  above  the  natural  level  of  the  Theols,  the 
stream  that  encircles  the  town.  This  work  is,  beyond  ques- 
tion, due  to  Eoman  engineers.  Finally,  the  quarter  lying 
to  the  north  of  the  castle  is  intersected  by  a  road  known  for 
two  thousand  years  as  the  Eue  de  Rome ;  and  the  inhabitants 
of  the  suburb,  who  are  certainly  of  a  quite  distinct  type  in 
race,  blood,  and  features,  call  themselves  the  direct  descend- 
ants of  the  Romans.  They  are  almost  all  vine-dressers,  and 
singularly  stern  in  their  manners,  owing,  perhaps,  to  their 
origin,  and  perhaps  also  to  their  triumph  over  the  Cottereaux 
and  Routiers,  whom  they  exterminated  in  the  twelfth  cen- 
tury in  the  plain  of  Charost. 

After  the  outbreak  in  1830,  France  was  too  much  agitated 
to  pay  any  attention  to  the  rebellion  among  the  vine-growers 
of  Issoudun,  which  was  very  serious,  though  the  details  were 
never  published,  and  for  very  good  reasons.  In  the  first  place, 
the  citizens  of  Issoudun  would  not  allow  any  troops  to  enter 
the  city.  They  chose  to  be  responsible  for  it  themselves,  after 
the  usage  and  traditions  of  the  citizen-class  in  the  Middle 
Ages.  The  authorities  were  forced  to  succumb  to  a  populace 
supported  by  six  of  seven  thousand  vine-dressers,  who  had 
burnt  all  the  archives  and  the  tax-offices,  and  who  went  from 
street  to  street,  dragging  about  an  excise  officer  of  the  octroi, 
saying  at  each  lamp-chain,  ^'Thh  is  the  place  to  hang  him.^^ — 
The  unhappy  man  was  delivered  from  these  wretches  by  the 
National  Guard,  who  saved  his  life  by  taking  liim  to  prison 
on  the  pretext  of  trying  him.  The  General  of  the  forces  only 
got  in  by  coming  to  terms  with  the  vine-dressers,  and  it  needed 
some  courage  to  walk  through  the  mob ;  for  as  soon  as  he  ap- 
peared outside  the  Town-hall  a  man  of  the  Roman  suburb 
put  his  pruning  scythe — a  large  curved  knife  at  the  end  of  a 
pole  used  for  lopping  trees — round  his  neck,  crying  out,  "No 
more  tax-gatherers,  or  we  yield  nothing."  And  the  laborer 
would  have  pruned  off  the  head  of  a  man  whom  sixteen  years 
of  fighting  had  spared,  but  for  the  prompt  intervention  of  one 
of  the  leaders  of  the  rebellion,  who  obtained  a  promise  that 
the  Chambers  should  be  asked  to  suppress  the  "cellar-rats" 
— or  excise  men. 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


101 


In  the  fourteenth  century  Issoudun  could  still  boast  of 
seventeen  thousand  inhabitants^  the  remnant  of  a  population 
of  nearly  double  that  number  in  Rigord^s  time.  Charles 
VII.  had  a  residence  there;  it  still  exists,  and  v/as  knov/n  as 
the  Maison  du  roy  so  late  as  the  eighteenth  century.  This 
town,  at  that  time  the  central  mart  of  the  wool-trade,  sup- 
plied the  greater  part  of  Europe  with  the  raw  material,  be- 
sides manufacturing  it  on  a  large  scale  into  cloth,  hats,  and 
excellent  gloves,  called  Chevreautin.  In  the  time  of  Louis 
XIV.  Issoudun,  the  birthplace  of  Baron  and  of  Bourdaloue, 
was  always  mentioned  as  a  home  of  elegance,  pure  French, 
and  good  society.  Poupart,  the  priest,  in  his  History  of 
Sancerre,  speaks  of  the  inhabitants  of  Issoudun  as  remark- 
able among  all  the  natives  of  le  Berry  for  their  acumen  and 
mother-wit. 

At  the  present  day  this  brilliancy  and  wit  have  totally  dis- 
appeared. Issoudun,  though  its  wide  extent  bears  witness 
to  its  former  im-portance,  claims  but  twelve  thousand  souls, 
including  the  vine-dressers  of  four  extensive  suburbs — Saint- 
Paterne,  Vilatte,  Rome,  and  les  Alouettes,  little  towns  in 
themselves.  The  inhabitants,  like  those  of  Versailles,  have 
elbow-room  in  the  streets.  Issoudun  still  is  the  centre  of  the 
wool-trade  of  le  Berry,  a  business  now  in  danger  from  the  im- 
provements which  are  being  generally  introduced  in  the  breed 
of  sheep  which  the  Berriclion  will  not  adopt.  The  vineyards 
of  Issoudun  yield  a  wine  which  is  consumed  in  two  depart- 
ments; and  which,  if  it  were  only  made  as  wine  is  made  in 
Burgundy  and  Gascony,  w^ould  be  one  of  the  best  vintages  in 
France.  But,  alas!  "We  do  as  our  fathers  did!^' — that  is 
the  law  of  the  land.  So  the  vine-growers  leave  the  stalks  in 
the  liquor  during  fermentation,  v/hich  ruins  the  flavor  of  a 
wine  that  might  be  the  source  of  renewed  wealth,  and  an 
opening  for  the  industry  of  the  district.  Thanks  to  the  rough- 
ness communicated  to  the  wine  by  the  wood,  and  which  is  said 
to  diminish  with  age,  it  may  be  kept  for  a  century!  Thi^ 
reason,  assigned  by  the  vine-grower,  is  important  enough  to 
the  science  of  the  manufacture  to  be  recorded  here;  Guiliaume 


102  A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


le  Breton  has,  in  fact,  celebrated  this  property  in  a  few  lines 
in  his  Philippide. 

Thus  the  decay  of  Issondun  is  accounted  for  by  its  per- 
verse stagnation,  carried  to  imbecility,  as  one  single  fact 
will  show.  When  the  direct  road  was  contemplated  from 
Paris  to  Tonlouse,  it  was  obvious  that  it  should  run  from 
Vierzon  to  Chateauroux,  past  Issoudun.  This  is  shorter  than 
the  line  actually  taken  by  Vatan.  But  the  bigwigs  of  the 
town,  and  the  Municipal  Council  of  Issoudun — which,  it  is 
said,  still  sits — petitioned  for  its  passing  through  Vatan; 
objecting  that  if  their  town  lay  on  the  highroad,  the  price 
of  provisions  would  rise,  and  they  might  be  obliged  to  pay 
thirty  sous  for  a  fowl. 

No  analogous  act  is  recorded  of  any  land  but  the  wildest 
districts  of  Sardinia,  a  country  formerly  so  populous  and 
rich,  and  now  so  deserted.  When  King  Charles  Albert,  with 
a  laudable  intent  to  civilize  the  land,  proposed  to  connect 
Sassari,  the  second  town  in  the  island,  with  Cagliari,  by  a  fine 
and  magnificent  highroad,  the  only  road  existing  in  this 
wild  Savanna,  the  direct  line  was  planned  to  pass  Bonorva, 
a  district  inhabited  by  a  refractory  race  very  like  our  subject 
Arab  tribes,  and,  in  fact,  descended  from  the  Moors.  When 
they  saw  themselves  within  an  ace  of  being  caught  by  civiliza- 
tion, the  savages  of  Bonorva,  without  taking  the  trouble  to 
discuss  the  matter,  signified  their  opposition  to  the  plan.  The 
Government  disregarded  this  announcement.  The  first  engi- 
neer who  attempted  to  take  a  bee-line  had  a  bullet  in  his 
brain,  and  died  by  his  stake.  No  questions  were  asked;  but 
the  road  made  a  bend  that  lengthens  it  by  eight  leagues. 

At  Issoudun  the  increasingly  low  price  of  the  wine,  all 
consumed  on  the  spot,  while  gratifying  the  citizen's  wish  to 
live  cheaply,  is  bringing  about  the  ruin  of  the  vine-growers, 
v/ho  are  more  and  more  oppressed  by  the  cost  of  cultivation 
and  the  excise;  in  the  same  way,  ruin  threatens  the  wool- 
trade  of  the  district,  in  consequence  of  the  impossibility  of 
improving  the  breed  of  sheep.  The  country  folks  have  a 
rooted  horror  of  every  kind  of  change,  even  of  that  which 
may  serve  their  interests* 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


303 


A  traveler  from  Paris  found  a  laborer  in  the  country  who 
was  dining  off  an  enormous  quantity  of  bread,  cheese,  and 
vegetables.  He  proved  to  him  that  by  substituting  a  certain 
proportion  of  meat  he  would  be  nourished  better  and  cheaper, 
he  would  do  more  work,  and  waste  his  capital  of  strength, 
more  slowly.  The  man  of  Berry  admitted  the  accuracy  of  the 
calculation. — "But  only  consider  the  jaw,  sir,''  said  he. — "The 
jaw?'' — "Why,  yes,  sir;  how  people  would  tattle !" 

"He  would  have  been  the  talk  of  the  district,"  said  the 
owner  of  the  land  on  which  the  incident  occurred.  "They 
would  think  he  was  as  rich  as  a  townsman.  In  short,  he  is 
afraid  of  public  opinion,  of  being  pointed  at,  of  being  sup- 
posed to  be  ailing  or  ill. — That  is  what  we  all  are  in  this  part 
of  the  world." 

Country-town  folk  often  echo  these  last  words  with  a  feeling 
of  covert  pride. 

And  while  ignorance  and  routine  are  insuperable  in  the 
country,  where  the  peasantry  are  left  to  themselves,  Issoudun, 
as  a  town,  has  settled  into  absolute  social  stagnation.  Being 
obliged  to  make  head  against  waning  fortunes  by  sordid 
economy,  each  family  lives  for  itself  alone.  Again,  the  society 
there  is  now  for  ever  bereft  of  the  contrast  that  gives  distinc- 
tion to  manners.  The  town  is  no  longer  the  scene  of  that 
antagonism  of  two  classes  which  gave  vitality  to  the  Italian 
states  in  the  Middle  Ages.  Issoudun  has  no  men  of  birth. 
The  Cottereaux,  the  Koutiers,  the  Jacquerie,  the  religious 
wars,  and  the  Revolution  have  completely  exterminated  the 
nobility.  The  town  is  very  proud  of  this  triumph.  To  keep 
down  the  cost  of  living,  Issoudun  has  persistently  refused  to 
be  made  a  garrison  town ;  thus  it  has  lost  that  means  of  inter- 
course with  the  times,  besides  losing  the  profit  that  is  derived 
from  the  presence  of  the  military. 

Until  1756  Issoudun  was  one  of  the  gayest  of  garrison 
towns.  A  judicial  drama,  which  was  the  talk  of  France 
at  that  time,  deprived  the  town  of  its  soldiery;  the  case  of 
the  Lieutenant-General  of  the  district  against  the  Marquis 
de  Chapt,  whose  son,  a  dragoon  officer,  was  put  to  death. 


^ 


104 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


justly  perhaps,  but  traitorously,  for  some  amorous  misde- 
meanor. 

The  occupation  by  the  44th  half-brigade,  forced  upon  it 
during  the  civil  war,  was  not  such  as  to  reconcile  the  in- 
habitants to  the  soldier  tribe. 

Bourges,  of  which  the  population  is  annually  diminish- 
ing, is  a  victim  to  the  same  social  atrophy.  Vitality  is  fail=- 
ing  in  these  large  bodies.  The  State  is  no  doubt  to  blame. 
It  is  the  duty  of  a  Government  to  detect  such  sores  in  the 
body  politic,  and  to  remedy  them  by  sending  men  of  energy 
to  the  affected  spots  to  change  the  state  of  things.  Alas! 
far  from  this,  such  fatal  and  funereal  peacefulness  is  a  source 
of  satisfaction!  Besides,  how  is  it  possible  to  send  fresh 
chiefs  or  capable  judges?  Who  nowadays  would  care  to  be 
buried  in  a  district  where  he  can  earn  no  credit  for  the  good 
to  be  done  ?  If  by  chance  an  ambitious  outsider  is  appointed 
to  such  a  place,  he  is  soon  swamped  by  the  power  of  inertia, 
and  tunes  him^self  to  the  pitch  of  the  dreadful  provincial, 
life.    Issoudun  Vv^ould  have  benumbed  Napoleon. 

As  a  result  of  this  state  of  things,  the  district  of  Issoudun, 
in  1822,  was  under  the  administration  of  men  all  natives  of  \(\ 
Berry.  Government  authority  was  therefore  nil  or  impotent, 
excepting  in  those  cases,  of  course  very  rare,  of  which  th(! 
evident  importance  demands  the  intervention  of  the  law. 
Monsieur  Mouilleron,  the  public  prosecutor,  was  related  to 
everybody,  and  his  deputy  belonged  to  a  family  in  the  town. 
The  President  of  the  Criminal  Court,  before  he  had  risen  to 
such  dignity,  had  made  himself  famous  by  one  of  those 
speeches  which,  in  the  provinces,  crown  a  man  with  a  fool's 
cap  for  the  rest  of  his  life.  At  the  end  of  a  case  for  the 
prosecution  which  would  entail  capital  punishment,  he  said  to 
the  prisoner:  "My  poor  Pierre,  the  case  is  clear;  you  will 
have  your  head  cut  off.  Let  that  be  a  lesson  to  you.''  The 
superintendent  of  police,  who  had  held  the  post  ever  since  the 
Kestoration,  had  relations  all  over  the  district. 

Finally,  not  only  had  religion  no  influence  whatever,  but 
the  cure  was  not  respected.    The  townsfolk — ^Liberals,  back- 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT  105 


biters,  and  ignorant — repeated  more  or  less  absurd  stories 
about  the  poor  man's  conduct  to  his  housekeeper.  The  chil- 
dren went  to  his  catechizing  all  the  same,  and  were  admitted 
to  their  first  Communion;  all  the  same,  there  was  a  school; 
Mass  was  said  and  festivals  were  kept;  the  taxes  were  paid, 
the  only  thing  Paris  requires  of  the  provinces ;  and  the  Maire 
passed  resolutions;  but  all  these  acts  of  social  life  were  mere 
matters  of  routine.  Thus  the  flabbiness  of  official  life  was 
in  admirable  harmony  with  the  moral  and  intellectual  con- 
dition of  the  place.  The  sequel  of  this  narrative  will  show 
the  results  of  a  state  of  things  less  exceptional  than  might  be 
supposed.  Many  towns  in  France,  especially  in  the  south, 
are  very  like  Issoudun.  And  the  state  to  which  the  triumph 
of  the  middle  class  had  brought  this  town — the  chief  town  of 
its  district  (or  arrondissement) — awaits  all  France,  and  even 
Paris,  if  the  citizen  class  continues  to  be  master  of  the  home 
and  foreign  policy  of  our  country. 

Now  a  word  as  to  the  topography  of  Issoudun.  The  town 
extends  north  and  south  on  a  hillside  that  curves  towards  the 
Chateauroux  road.  At  the  foot  of  the  slope  a  canal  was  con- 
structed at  the  time  when  the  place  was  prosperous,  to  supply 
the  factories,  or  to  flood  the  trenches  below  the  ramparts;  it 
is  known  as  la  Riviere  forcee,  the  Borrowed  Stream,  its  waters 
being  diverted  from  the  Theols.  The  borrowed  stream  forms 
an  artificial  branch,  returning  to  the  natural  river  below  the 
Koman  suburb  at  a  point  where  it  is  met  by  the  Tournemine 
and  some  other  affluents.  These  little  brooks  of  rushing 
water  irrigate  meadows  of  some  extent,  which  lie  on  all  sides 
below  the  yellow  or  white  hills  closely  dotted  with  black 
specks,  for  such  is  the  aspect  of  the  vine-land  of  Issoudun  dur- 
ing seven  months  of  the  year.  The  vine-dressers  layer  the 
vines  every  year,  and  leave  nothing  but  a  hideous  stump,  with- 
out any  prop,  at  the  bottom  of  a  funnel  of  earth.  Thus,  on 
arriving  from  Vierzon,  Vatan,  or  Chateauroux,  the  eye, 
wearied  by  the  monotonous  plain,  is  agreeably  surprised  by  the 
appearance  of  the  meadowland  of  Issoudun,  the  oasis  of  this 
part  of  the  country,  supplying  vegetables  for  ten  leagues 


106 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


roundo  Below  the  suburb  of  Eome  stretches  one  vast  market^ 
garden  exclusively  devoted  to  kitchen  produce,  and  divided 
into  the  Upper  and  Lower  Baltan. 

A  broad,  long  avenue,  with  side-walks  planted  with  poplars, 
leads  from  the  town,  across  the  fields,  to  an  ancient  convent 
called  Frapesle  where  an  English  garden — unique  in  the 
district — bears  the  high-sounding  name  of  Tivoli.  Here,  on 
Sundays,  fond  couples  wander  to  breathe  their  confidences. 

Traces  of  the  former  splendor  of  Issoudun  can,  of  course, 
be  discerned  by  an  attentive  observer,  and  the  most  conspicu- 
ous are  the  divisions  of  the  town.  The  castle,  which  of  old 
was  a  town  of  itself,  with  its  walls  and  moats,  constitutes  a 
distinct  quarter  even  now,  entered  only  through  the  old  gates, 
or  quitted  by  three  bridges  over  the  arms  of  the  two  rivers ;  this 
alone  has  the  aspect  of  an  old  town.  The  walls  still  show 
their  formidable  masonry,  here  and  there  crowned  with  houses. 
Above  the  castle  rises  the  tower  which  was  the  citadel.  The 
conqueror  of  the  town  lying  round  these  two  fortified  strong- 
holds had  still  to  take  both  the  tower  and  the  castle.  Nor  did 
the  .nastery  of  the  castle  secure  that  of  the  tower.  The  sub^ 
urb  of  Saint-Paterne  beyond  the  tower,  shaped  like  a  palette, 
and  encroaching  on  the  fields,  is  so  large  that  it  must  in  early 
age<5  have  been  the  original  township.  Since  the  Middle  Ages 
Issoudun,  like  Paris,  has  climbed  a  hill  and  spread  outside 
the  tower  and  the  castle. 

In  1822  this  notion  still  derived  some  certainty  from  the 
existence  of  the  beautiful  Church  of  Saint-Paterne,  only  re- 
cently pulled  down  by  the  son  of  the  man  who  purchased  it 
from  the  nation.  This  building,  one  of  the  prettiest  ex- 
amples of  Eomanesque  Church  architecture  in  France,  was 
destroyed  without  any  one  having  drawn  the  porch  front, 
which  was  in  perfect  preservation.  The  only  voice  that  was 
raised  to  save  the  building  found  no  echo,  neither  in  the  town 
nor  in  the  department. 

Though  the  castle-precincts  of  Issoudun  have  all  the  char- 
acter of  an  old  place,  with  its  narrow  streets  and  ancient 
houses,  the  town,  properly  so  called,  which  was  taken  and  burnt 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


107 


tgain  and  again  at  different  periods,  and  especially  during 
the  Fronde,  when  it  was  burnt  to  the  ground,  has  now  a 
modern  aspect.  Broad  streets,  as  compared  with  the  other 
quarters,  and  well-built  houses  form  a  contrast  with  the  an- 
cient castle  striking  enough  to  have  earned  Issoudun,  in  some 
geographies,  the  epithet  of  pretty. 

In  a  town  thus  constituted,  devoid  even  of  commercial 
activity,  of  taste  for  the  arts,  of  scientific  interest,  vv^here 
every  one  sits  at  home,  it  could  not  but  happen- -and  it  did  in 
fact  happen — that  at  the  time  of  the  Eestoration,  in  1816, 
when  the  war  was  over,  many  of  the  young  men  of  the  place 
had  no  career  before  them,  and  did  not  know  what  to  do  with 
themselves  pending  their  marriage,  or  their  coming  into  their 
parents'  money.  Bored  to  death  at  home,  these  young  people 
found  no  means  of  diversion  in  the  town;  and  since,  as  the 
proverb  has  it,  young  men  must  sow  their  wild  oats,  they  per- 
formed the  operation  at  the  expense  of  the  town  itself.  It 
was  difficult  to  do  much  by  broad  daylight ;  they  would  have 
been  recognized,  and,  the  cup  of  their  misdemeanors  once  full, 
they  would  at  their  first  serious  offence  have  found  them- 
selves in  the  hands  of  the  police;  so  they  very  judiciously, 
preferred  to  play  their  mischievous  pranks  at  night.  And 
thus,  among  these  old  ruins  left  by  so  many  departed  phases 
of  civilization,  a  vestige  of  the  farcical  spirit  that  character- 
ized the  manners  of  the  past  flashed  like  a  dying  flame. 
These  young  men  took  their  pleasure  as  Charles  IX.  and  his 
courtiers,  or  Henry  V.  and  his  companions,  were  wont  to  take 
theirs,  in  a  form  of  amusement  common  of  old  in  many 
provincial  towns. 

Having  become  confederates  by  their  need  of  mutual  help 
and  defence  and  the  desire  to  invent  practical  jokes,  the 
friction  of  wits  developed  among  them  a  pitch  of  mischievous- 
ness  which  is  natural  to  the  young,,  and  may  be  noticed  even 
in  animals.  Their  confederacy  gave  them  also  the  little  en- 
joyment that  comes  of  the  mystery  of  a  standing  conspiracy. 
They  called  themselves  "The  Knights  of  Idlesse."  All  through 
the  day  these  young  monkeys  were  little  saints ;  they  affected 
VOL.  4—34 


108 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


excessive  quietude;  besides,  they  slept  late  in  the  mornings 
after  nights  when  they  had  carried  out  some  cruel  trick. 
The  Knights  of  Idlesse  began  by  common  practical  jokes,  such 
as  unhooking  and  changing  shop-signs,  ringing  at  doors,  hurl- 
ing a  cask  left  outside  a  door  into  a  neighbor's  cellar  with  a 
prodigious  clatter,  and  waking  the  folks  by  a  noise  like  the 
explosion  of  a  mine.  At  Issoudun,  as  in  many  places,  the  way 
into  the  cellars  is  through  a  trap-door  close  to  the  entrance 
from  the  street,  closed  by  a  huge  lid  with  hinges,  and  fastened 
with  a  heavy  padlock.  These  Bad  Boys,  at  the  end  of  1816, 
had  not  got  beyond  the  practical  jokes  played  everywhere  by 
young  men  and  lads.  But  in  January  1817  the  Order  of 
Idlesse  had  a  Grand  Master,  and  distinguished  itself  by  cer- 
tain pranks  which  until  1823  were  the  terror  of  Issoudun,  or, 
at  any  rate,  kept  the  citizens  and  craftsmen  in  perpetual 
alarms. 

This  leader  was  one  Maxence  Gilet,  called  Max  for  short; 
and  his  antecedents,  no  less  than  his  strength  and  youth, 
destined  him  for  the  part.  Maxence  Gilet  was  supposed  to  be 
the  natural  son  of  Lousteau,  Madame  Hochon's  brother,  the 
Bub-delegate  whose  gallantries  had  left  many  memorials,  and 
who  had  incurred,  as  we  know.  Doctor  Kouget's  hatred  a 
propos  to  Agathe's  birth.  But  before  this  quarrel  the  friend- 
ship between  the  two  men  had  been  so  close  that,  to  use  a  phrase 
of  the  country  and  period,  where  one  went  the  other  would  go. 
So  it  was  always  said  that  Max  might  just  as  well  be  the 
doctor's  son  as  Lousteau's ;  but  he  belonged  to  neither  of  them, 
for  his  father  was  a  handsome  young  dragoon  officer  in 
garrison  at  Bourges.  However,  as  a  consequence  of  their 
intimacy,  happily  for  the  boy,  the  two  men  were  always 
disputing  for  the  paternity. 

Max's  mother,  the  wife  of  a  clog-maker  in  the  Roman  sub- 
urb, was  for  her  soul's  destruction  amazingly  beautiful,  with 
the  beauty  of  a  true  Trasteverina,  the  only  thing  she  had  to 
bequeath  to  her  boy.  Madame  Gilet,  before  Max's  birth  in 
1788,  had  long  pined  for  this  boon  from  heaven,  which  was 
maliciously  ascribed  to  the  gallantries  of  the  two  men — no 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


109 


doubt  to  set  them  at  loggerheads.  Gilet,  a  hardened  old  sot, 
winked  at  his  wife's  misconduct  by  such  collusion  and  toler- 
ance as  are  not  exceptional  in  the  lowest  class.  The  woman 
herself,  hoping  to  secure  their  protection  for  the  child,  took 
good  care  not  to  enlighten  the  supposed  fathers.  In  Paris 
she  would  have  been  a  millionaire ;  at  Issoudun  she  sometimes 
was  well  off,  sometimes  wretchedly  poor,  and  at  last  scorned  by 
all. 

Madame  Hochon,  Monsieur  Lousteau's  sister,  paid  about 
ten  crowns  a  year  towards  Max's  schooling.  This  liberality, 
which  Madame  Plochon  could  not  allow  herself  in  conse- 
quence of  her  husband's  avarice,  was  naturally  attributed 
to  her  brother,  then  living  at  Sancerre.  When  Doctor  Rouget. 
whose  son  was  not  a  success,  observed  how  handsome  Max  was, 
he  paid  the  school  expenses  of  the  "young  rascal,"  as  he 
called  him,  till  1805.  As  Lousteau  had  died  in  1800,  and  the 
doctor  seemed  to  gratify  a  feeling  of  pride  by  paying  the  boy's 
schooling  for  five  years,  the  question  of  paternity  remained 
unsettled. 

Indeed,  Maxence  Gilet,  the  cause  of  many  jests,  was  soon 
forgotten.  And  this  is  his  story.  In  1806,  a  year  after 
Doctor  Rouget's  death,  the  boy,  who  seem.ed  born  to  a  life  of 
adventure,  and  who  was  indeed  gifted  with  extraordinary 
strength  and  agility,  had  committed  a  number  of  more  or  less 
rash  acts  of  mischief.  He  and  Monsieur  Hochon's  grand- 
sons were  already  in  league  to  drive  the  tradesf oiks  to  frenzy ; 
he  gathered  all  the  neighbors'  fruit  before  the  owners,  making 
nothing  of  scaling  a  wall.  This  imp  had  no  match  in  athletic 
exercises;  he  played  prisoner's  base  to  perfection;  he  could 
have  coursed  and  caught  axhare.  He  had  an  eye  worthy  of 
Leather-Stocking,  and  had  a  passion  for  sport.  Instead  of 
doing  his  lessons,  he  passed  all  his  time  in  shooting  at  a  mark. 
He  spent  all  the  money  he  could  extract  from  the  old  doctor 
in  buying  powder  and  shot  for  a  worn-out  pistol  given  to  him 
by  Gilet  the  clog-maker.  'Nov/,  in  the  autumn  of  1806,  Max, 
by  this  time  seventeen,  committed  an  involuntary  murder 
one  evening  at  nightfall  by  coming  upon  a  young  woman  iij 


110 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


her  garden,  where  he  was  stealing  fruit,  and  frightening  her 
into  a  miscarriage.  Being  threatened  by  the  clog-maker 
with  the  guillotine — the  old  man  no  doubt  wanted  to  be  rid  of 
him — Max  ran  off,  and  never  stopped  till  he  reached  Bourges, 
joined  a  regiment  on  the  march  to  Spain,  and  there  enlisted. 
No  further  notice  was  taken  of  the  young  woman's  death. 

A  lad  of  Max's  disposition  was  certain  to  distinguish  him- 
self; and  he  did  so,  with  such  effect  that,  after  three  cam- 
paigns, he  returned  as  a  captain,  for  the  little  learning  he  had 
picked  up  had  served  him  well.  In  1809,  in  Portugal,  he  was 
left  for  dead  on  an  English  battery  which  his  company  had 
taken,  but  could  not  hold.  Max,  a  prisoner,  was  sent  by  the 
English  to  the  Spanish  hulks  at  Cabrera,  the  worst  of  all. 

An  application  was  indeed  made  on  his  behalf  to  the  Em- 
peror for  the  Cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honor  and  the  rank  of 
Major,  but  Napoleon  was  just  then  in  Austria;  he  kept  all 
his  favors  for  the  dashing  actions  that  were  done  under  his 
own  eye ;  he  had  no  liking  for  men  who  were  taken  prisoners, 
and  was  not  best  pleased  with  the  state  of  affairs  in  Portugal. 

Max  was  left  on  the  hulks  from  1810  to  1814.  In  the 
course  of  those  four  years  he  v/as  utterly  demoralized ;  for  the 
hulks  were  the  galle3^s  minus  the  crime  and  disgrace.  In  the 
first  place,  to  secure  his  own  freedom  of  action  and  defend 
himself  against  the  corruption  that  was  rampant  in  those 
foul  prisons,  unworthy  of  any  civilized  nation,  the  handsome 
young  captain  killed  in  duels — for  duels  were  fought  on  a 
space  six  yards  square — seven  bullies  and  tyrants  of  whom  he 
rid  his  ship,  to  the  great  joy  of  their  victims.  Max  reigned  in 
the  hulk,  thanks  to  the  prodigious  skill  he  acquired  in  han- 
dling his  weapons,  to  his  personal  strength  and  cleverness.  But 
he,  in  his  turn,  committed  some  arbitrary  acts,  and  had  ad- 
herents who  took  his  part  and  became  his  flatterers.  In  this 
school  of  misery,  where  embittered  nature  dreamed  only  of 
revenge,  and  where  the  sophistries  hatched  in  these  seething 
brains  found  a  warrant  for  every  evil  purpose.  Max  became 
utterly  depraved.  He  listened  to  the  counsel  of  those  who 
aimed  at  fortune  at  any  price,  and  did  not  shrink  from 


A  BACHELOirS  ESTABLISHMENT 


111 


criminal  deeds  so  long  as  they  could  be  committed  without 
proof. 

At  last,  at  the  peace,  he  was  released,  perverted  though 
guiltless,  capable  of  becoming  a  great  politician  in  public 
life,  or  a  scoundrel  in  private  life,  as  circumstances  might 
direct. 

On  his  return  to  Issoudun  he  heard  of  the  deplorable  end  of 
his  parents.  Like  all  people  who  give  way  to  their  passions, 
and  lead,  as  the  saying  goes,  a  short  life  and  a  merry  one,  the 
Gilets  had  died  in  hospital  in  the  most  dire  poverty.  Almost 
immediately  after  the  news  of  Napoleon^s  landing  at  Cannes 
ran  through  France,  Max  thought  he  could  not  do  better  than 
go  to  Paris  and  ask  for  his  Cross  and  his  promotion.  The 
Marshal  who  was  then  at  the  head  of  the  War  Office  re- 
membered Captain  Gilet's  brave  conduct  in  Portugal ;  he  gave 
him  his  commission  with  the  ranl^  of  Major  of  Infantry ;  but 
he  could  not  obtain  the  Cross  for  him.  ^^The  Emperor  says 
you  will  be  sure  to  win  it  in  the  first  fight,f^  said  the  Marshal. 
And,  in  fact,  the  Emperor  put  down  the  brave  Captain's 
name  for  that  honor  after  the  battle  of  Fleurus,  where  Gilet 
distinguished  himself.  After  the  battle  of  Waterloo,  Gilet 
retired  with  the  army  on  the  Loire.  When  the  revision  took 
place,  Marshal  Feltre  would  grant  him  neither  his  promotion 
nor  his  Cross. 

Napoleon's  soldier  came  home  to  Issoudun  in  a  state  of 
exasperation  that  may  be  easily  imagined;  he  refused  to 
serve  at  all  without  his  Cross  and  the  rank  of  Major.  The 
authorities  thought  this  a  monstrous  demand  from  a  young 
man  of  five-and-twenty,  who  at  that  rate  might  be  a  Colonel 
at  thirty.  So  Max  sent  in  his  papers.  Thus  the  Major — for 
the  Bonapartists  recognized  among  themselves  the  promotions 
conferred  in  1815 — lost  the  pittance  designated  as  half -pay 
that  was  doled  out  to  the  officers  of  the  army  of  the  Loire. 
At  the  sight  of  this  handsome  young  fellow,  whose  whole  pos- 
sessions were  twenty  napoleons,  Issoudun  bestirred  itself  in 
his  favor,  and  the  Maire  gave  him  a  place  in  his  office  with  a 
^salary  of  six  hundred  francs.    Max,  after  holding  this  ap- 


112  A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


pointment  for  about  six  months,  retired  of  his  own  accord, 
and  was  succeeded  by  a  captain  named  Carpentier,  wlio,  like 
himself,  had  remained  faithful  to  Napoleon.        -  • 

Gilet,  already  Grand  Master  of  the  Knights  of  Idlesse, 
had  entered  on  a  life  which  lost  him  the  regard  of  the  best 
families  in  the  town ;  not  that  they  said  anything  to  him,  for 
he  was  violent,  and  dreaded  by  everybody,  even  by  those  officers 
of  the  old  army  who  had,  like  him,  refused  to  serve,  and  had 
come  home  to  plant  cabbages  in  le  Berry. 

The  small  affection  felt  for  the  Bourbons  by  the  good  folks 
of  Issoudun  is  not  surprising  after  what  has  here  been  said. 
And,  in  proportion  to  its  size,  there  were  more  Bonapartista 
in  this  little  town  than  anywhere  else.  As  is  well  knov/n, 
almost  all  the  Bonapartists  became  Liberals.  At  Issoudun, 
or  in  the  neighborhood,  there  were  perhaps  a  dozen  officers 
in  the  same  position  as  Maxence,  who  liked  him  so  well  as  to 
regard  him  as  their  chief;  vath  the  sole  exception  of  Car- 
pentier,  his  successor,  and  of  a  certain  Monsieur  Mignonnet, 
ex-captain  of  the  Artillery  of  the  Guard.  Carpentier,  a 
cavalry  officer,  who  had  risen  from  the  ranks,  very  soon 
married,  thus  allying  himself  with  one  of  the  most  important 
families  of  the  town — that  of  Borniche-Herau.  Mignonnet, 
a  student  of  the  Ecole  Poly  technique,  had  belonged  to  a  corps 
which  fancies  itself  superior  to  all  others.  There  were  in  the 
Imperial  armies  two  tones  of  feeling  among  the  military.  A 
strong  party  had  an  immense  contempt  for  the  mere  citizen, 
the  pequin,  the  plain-clothes-man,  such  as  the  noble  felt  for 
the  villein,  the  conquering  race  for  the  conquered.  These 
were  not  over-strict  in  observing  the  code  of  honor  in  their 
intercourse  with  civilians,  and  a  man  who  had  cut  down  a 
bourgeois  was  not  too  severely  blamed.  The  others,  and 
among  them  the  artillery,  as  a  result  perhaps  of  its  republican- 
ism, did  not  adopt  this  view,  which  tended  indeed  to  divide 
France  into  tv/o  parts — Military  France  and  Civilian  France, 
Hence,  though  Major  Potel  and  Captain  Eenard,  two  officers 
living  in  the  Poman  quarter,  whose  views  as  to  civilians  never 
varied,  were  Maxence  Gilct's  friends  through  thick  and  thin^ 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


Major  Mignorinet  and  Captain  Carpentier  sided  with  the 
townsfolks  in  regarding  Max's  conduct  as  unworthy  of  an 
**ofhcer  and  a  gentleman." 

Major  Mignonnet,  a  little  dry  man  of  much  dignity,  gave 
his  mind  to  the  problems  which  the  steam-  engine  seemed  likely 
to  solve,  and  lived  very  simply  in  the  quiet  society  of  Monsieur 
and  Madame  Carpentier.  His  gentle  manners  and  scientific 
pursuits  gained  him  the  consideration  of  the  whole  town. 
And  it  was  currently  said  that  these  two  gentlemen  were  a 
very  different  sort  from  Major  Potel  and  Captain  Eenard, 
Maxence,  and  the  rest  who  frequented  the  Cafe  Militaire  and 
kept  up  the  rough  manners  and  traditions  of  the  Empire. 

Thus,  at  the  time  v/hen  Madame  Bridau  revisited  Issoudun, 
Max  was  an  outlaw  from  the  citizen  world.  The  young  fellow 
indeed  so  far  sentenced  himself  that  he  never  intruded  himself 
on  the  circle  known  as  the  club,  and  did  not  complain  of  the 
reprobation  of  which  he  was  the  object,  though  he  was  the 
youngest,  and  smartest,  and  best-dressed  m^an  in  Issoudun, 
spent  a  good  deal  of  money,  and  even  had  a  horse — a  creature 
as  strange  at  Issoudun  as  Lord  Byron's  was  at  Venice. 

It  will  presently  be  seen  how  it  had  come  to  pass  that 
Maxence,  poor  and  unholpen,  had  been  enabled  to  become  the 
man  of  fashion  of  Issoudun;  for  these  disgraceful  mxCan?, 
which  earned  him  the  contempt  of  timid  or  pious  persons,  were 
linked  with  the  interests  which  had  brought  Agathe  and 
Joseph  from  Paris.  To  judge  from  his  braggart  bearing 
and  the  expression  of  his  countenance.  Max  cared  little  enough 
for  public  opinion;  he  no  doubt  counted  on  being  revenged 
some  day,  and  reigning  over  those  who  now  scorned  him. 

Besides,  though  the  better  class  might  misprize  him,  the 
admiration  his  character  commanded  among  the  populace  was 
a  counterpoise  to  that  opinion;  his  courage,  his  fine  appear- 
ance, his  decisiveness,  delighted  the  mob;  but,  indeed,  his 
depravity  was  not  known  to  them,  nor  v/as  its  extent  suspected 
even  by  the  townsfolk. 

Max,  at  Issoudun,  played  a  part  very  similar  to  that  of  the 
Armorer  in  The  Fair  Maid  of  Perth;  he  was  the  champion 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


of  Bonaparte  and  the  Opposition.  He  was  locked  to  on 
great  occasions  as  the  good  men  of  Perth  looked  to  Smith. 
A  fray  gave  the  hero  and  the  victim  of  the  hundred  days  his 
opportunity. 

In  1819  a  battalion  commanded  by  some  Royalist  officers, 
lads  just  out  of  Maison  Rouge,  marched  through  Issoudun  ^n 
their  way  to  relieve  the  garrison  at  Bourges.  Not  knowing 
what  to  do  in  such  a  constitutional  town,  the  officers  went  to- 
pass  the  time  at  the  Cafe  Militaire.  There  is  such  a  resort 
for  soldiers  in  every  provincial  town.  That  of  Issoudun, 
standing  in  a  corner  of  the  parade-ground  under  the  walls, 
and  kept  by  the  widow  of  an  officer,  naturally  served  as  a  sort 
of  club  for  the  Bonapartists  of  the  place,  half-pay  officers  and 
others  who  were  of  Max's  way  of  thinl^ing,  and  who  were 
allowed,  by  the  feeling  of  the  town,  to  display  their  adoration 
of  the  Emperor.  After  1816  a  banquet  was  held  at  Issoudun 
every  year  to  celebrate  the  anniversary  of  Napoleon's  corona- 
tion. 

The  first  three  Royalists  who  dropped  in  asked  for  ncAVS- 
papers,  naming,  among  others,  the  Quotidienne  and  the  Dra- 
peau  hlanc.  But  the  opinions  of  the  town,  and  especially  of 
t,he  Cafe  Militaire,  did  not  encourage  Royalist  newspapers. 
The  Cafe  could  only  produce  the  Commerce^  the  name  assumed 
for  a  few  years  by  the  Constitutionnel  when  that  paper  was 
suppressed  by  law.  But  since,  in  the  first  number  published 
under  that  title,  its  leader  opened  with  these  words,  "The 
Commerce  is  essentially  constitutional  in  its  views,"  it  was  still 
familiarly  called  the  Constitutionnel.  Every  subscriber  at 
once  saw  the  joke  which  bid  them  pay  no  attention  to  the 
name  over  the  door ;  the  wine  would  be  of  the  old  tap. 

The  stout  mistress  perched  at  her  desk  told  the  Royalists 
that  she  had  not  the  papers  they  asked  for. 

"What  papers  do^  you  take  then?"  said  one  of  the  officei'S, 
a  captain. 

The  waiter^  a  small  youth  in  a  blue  cloth  jacket  and  a 
coarse  linen  apron,  produced  the  Commerce. 

"Oh  !  so  that  is  your  paper !    Have  you  no  other 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


115 


''No/'  said  the  waiter,  ^'^that  is  the  only  one." 

The  Captain  tore  the  hostile  sheet  into  fragments,  threw 
it  on  the  floor,  and  spat  upon  it,  saying,  '^Bring  the  dominoes !" 

Within  ten  minutes  news  of  the  insult  offered  to  the  Con- 
stitutional Opposition  and  Liberalism  generally  in  the  person 
of  the  sacrosanct  paper,  which  waged  war  on  the  priesthood 
with  the  courage  and  wit  we  all  know,  was  flying  along  the 
streets  and  flashing  like  light  into  every  house ;  every  one  was 
telling  the  tale.  The  same  sentence  rose  to  every  lip:  "Kun 
and  tell  Max !" 

Max  was  soon  informed.  The  officers  had  not  finished 
their  game  of  dominoes  when  Max,  accompanied  by  Major 
Potel  and  Captain  Eenard,  entered  the  Cafe;  while  a  fol- 
lowing of  thirty  young  fellows,  eager  to  see  the  end  of  the 
matter,  remained,  for  the  most  part,  outside  in  groups  on  the 
Parade.    The  Cafe  soon  was  full. 

"Waiter,  bring  me  my  paper,"  said  Max  very  quietly. 
Then  a  little  comedy  was  played.  The  stout  woman  said  in 
a  timid  and  conciliatory  tone : 

"I  have  lent  it.  Captain." 

"Go  and  fetch  it !"  cried  one  of  Max's  companions. 

"Cannot  you  do  without  the  paper?"  said  the  waiter. 
"We  have  not  got  it." 

The  young  officers  were  laughing  and  stealing  side-glances  ' 
at  the  town  party.  ■ 

"It  is  torn  up !"  exclaimed  a  young  Bonapartist,  looking 
at  the  Captain's  feet. 

"Who  has  dared  to  tear  up  the  newspaper  ?"  asked  Max  in 
a  voice  of  thunder,  his  eyes  flashing,  and  his  arms  crossed  as 
he  rose. 

"And  we  have  spit  upon  it  too,"  replied  the  three  Royalists, 
rising  and  facing  Max. 

"You  have  insulted  the  Avhole  town!"  said  Max,  turning 
pale. 

"Well,  what  of  that  ?"  said  the  youngest  of  the  three. 

With  a  neatness,  a  boldness,  and  a  swiftness  which  the 
young  men  could  not  guard  against,  Max  dealt  two  slaps  t«* 
the  foremost  man  as  they  stood,  saying: 


116 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


*'Do  you  understand  French?" 

They  went  out  to  fight  in  the  Allee  de  Frapesle,  three 
against  three.  Potel  and  Eenard  would  not  hear  of  allow- 
ing Max  to  fight  it  out  alone  with  the  Koyalists.  Max  killed 
his  man ;  Potel  wounded  his  so  severely  that  the  unhappy  lad, 
a  man  of  good  birth^  died  next  day  in  the  hospital,  whither 
they  carried  him.  As  for  the  third,  he  got  off  with  a  sword- 
cut,  and  wounded  Captain  Eenard,  his  opponent.  The  bat-, 
talion  went  on  to  Bourges  that  night.  This  affair,  much' 
talked  about  in  the  country,  crowned  Maxence  Gilet  as  a  hero. 

The  Knights  of  Idlesse,  all  young — the  eldest  was  not  five- 
and-twenty — admired  Maxence.  Some  of  them,  far  from 
sharing  the  rigid  prudery  of  their  families  with  regard  to 
Max,  envied  him  greatly,  and  thought  him  a  very  fortunate 
iflian.  Under  such  a  leader  the  Order  did  wonders.  From 
liie  month  of  January  1817  not  a  week  passed  but  the  town 
was  in  a  pother  over  some  fresh  prank.  Max,  as  a  point  of 
honor,  imposed  certain  conditions  on  the  Knights;  by-laws 
were  drawn  up.  These  young  devils  became  as  prompt  as 
disciples  of  Amoros,  as  tough  as  kites,  skilled  in  every  kind 
of  exercise,  as  strong  and  as  dexterous  as  malefactors.  They 
were  adepts  in  the  business  of  creeping  over  roofs,  scaling 
liouse-walls,  jumping  and  walking  without  a  sound,  spreading 
mortar,  and  building  up  doors.  They  had  an  arsenal  of 
ladders,  ropes,  tools,  and  disguises.  The  Knights  of  Idlesse, 
in  short,  achieved  the  very  ideal  of  ingenious  mischief,  not 
only  in  the  execution,  but  in  the  invention  of  the  tricks  they 
played.  They  were  at  last  inspired  by  that  genius  of  malig- 
nity in  which  Panurge  took  such  delight,  which  provokes  every 
one  to  laugh,  and  makes  the  victim  so  ridiculous  that  he  dare 
not  complain.  The  men,  all  respectably  connected,  had,  of 
course,  means  of  information  in  private  houses  which  enabled 
them  to  obtain  such  intelligence  as  could  serve  them  in  the 
perpetration  of  their  rascality. 

One  very  cold  night  these  demons  incarnate  carried  a 
large  stove  out  into  the  courtyard  of  a  house,  and  stoked 
it  so  effectually  that  the  fire  lasted  till  morning.    Then  it 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


117 


was  rumored  in  the  town  that  Monsieur  So-and-so  (a  noted 
miser!)  had  been  trying  to  warm  his  yard. 

Sometimes  they  lay  in  ambush  in  the  High  Street,  or  the 
Eue  Basse,  the  two  arteries,  as  it  were,  of  the  town,  into 
which  run  a  great  number  of  smaller  cross  streets.  Squat- 
ting, each  at  the  corner  of  a  side  street,  under  the  wall,  putting 
their  heads  out  when  every  household  was  in  its  first  sleep, 
they  would  shout  in  a  tone  of  terror  from  one  end  of  the  town 
to  the  other : 

"What  is  the  matter?  Oh,  what  is  the  matter?"  The  re- 
peated question  would  rouse  the  citizens,  who  soon  appeared 
in  their  shirts  and  night-caps,  candle  in  hand,  catechizing 
each  other,  and  holding  the  strangest  colloquies  with  the 
most  bewildered  faces  ever  seen. 

There  was  a  poor  bookbinder,  very  old,  who  believed  in 
demons.  Like  most  provincial  artisans,  he  worked  in  a 
little  low  shop.  The  Knights,  disguised  as  devils,  invaded 
his  shop  at  night,  put  him  into  his  waste-paper  box,  and  left, 
him  shrieking  like  three  men  at  the  stake.  The  poor  maix 
roused  all  the  neighbors,  to  whom  he  related  these  apparitions 
of  Lucifer,  and  the  neighbors  could  never  undeceive  him. 
The  binder  very  nearly  went  mad. 

In  the  depths  of  a  severe  winter  the  confederates  de- 
molished the  chimney-pot  of  the  tax-collector,  and  replaced  it 
in  the  course  of  the  night ;  it  was  exactly  the  same ;  they  made 
no  noise  and  left  not  the  slightest  trace  of  their  work.  The 
chimney  was,  however,  so  arranged  inside  as  to  fill  the  room 
with  smoke.  The  tax-collector  endured  this  for  two  months 
before  discovering  v/hy  his  chimney,  which  had  always  worked 
properly  and  given  him  perfect  satisfaction,  should  play  such 
tricks ;  and  he  had  to  reconstruct  it. 

One  day  they  stuffed  trusses  of  straw  sprinkled  with 
sulphur,  and  greasy  paper  into  the  chimney  of  an  old  bigot, 
a  friend  of  Madame  Hochon's.  Next  morning,  on  lighting 
her  fire,  the  poor  old  lady,  a  quiet,  gentle  creature,  thought 
she  had  lighted  a  volcano.  The  firemen  came,  the  whole  town 
rushed  in;  and  as  there  were  among  the  firemen  some  of  the 


118 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


Knights  of  Idlesse,  they  deluged  the  poor  soul's  house,  and  put 
her  in  fear  of  drowning  after  the  fear  of  fire.  She  fell  ill  of 
the  shock. 

When  they  wished  to  keep  any  one  up  all  night,  under 
arms  and  in  mortal  terror,  they  sent  anonymous  letters  warn- 
ing him  of  a  plan  to  rob  him;  then  they  crept  one  by  one 
under  his  wall  or  past  his  windows  whistling  signals  to  each 
other. 

One  of  their  most  successful  hoaxes,  which  amused  the 
town  hugely,  and  is  talked  of  to  this  day,  was  sending  to  all 
the  possible  heirs  of  a  very  miserly  old  woman,  who  was  ex- 
pected to  leave  a  large  fortune,  a  few  lines  announcing  her 
death,  and  inviting  them  to  come  punctually  at  a  certain 
hour,  when  seals  would  be  affixed.  About  eighty  persons 
arrived  from  Vatan,  Saint-Florent,  Yierzon,  and  the  neigh- 
borhood, all  in  deep  mourning,  but  in  very  good  spirits — men 
with  their  wives,  widows  with  their  sons,  children  with  their 
parents,  some  in  gigs,  some  in  basket-carriages,  some  in  old 
tax-carts.  Imagine  the  scenes  between  the  old  lady's  ser- 
vant and  the  first-comers !  Then  the  consultations  at  the 
lawyer's  ! — It  was  like  a  riot  in  the  town. 

At  last  one  day  the  Sous-prefet  began  to  think  this  state  of 
things  intolerable,  all  the  more  so  because  it  was  impossible  to 
ascertain  who  ventured  to  perpetrate  these  pleasantries.  Sus- 
picion, indeed,  rested  on  the  guilty  youths;  but  as  the 
National  Guard  was  at  that  time  a  mere  name  at  Issoudun, 
as  there  was  no  garrison,  and  as  the  lieutenant  of  police  had 
not  more  than  eight  gendarmes  at  his  command,  and  kept 
no  patrol,  it  was  impossible  to  obtain  proofs.  The  Sous- 
prefet  was  at  once  placed  on  "the  order  of  the  night,"  to  be 
treated  as  obnoxious.  This  functionary  was  in  the  habit  oi 
eating  two  new-laid  eggs  for  breakfast.  He  kept  fowls  in 
his  yard,  and  he  crowned  his  mania  for  eating  new-laid  eggs 
by  insisting  on  cooking  them  himself.  Neither  his  wife, 
nor  the  maid,  nor  any  one,  according  to  him,  could  cook  an 
egg  as  it  ought  to  be  done;  he  watched  the  clock,  and 
boasted  that  in  this  particular  he  could  beat  all  the  world- 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


119 


For  two  years  he  had  boiled  his  own  eggs  with  a  success  that 
was  the  subject  of  much  jesting.  Then,  every  night  for  a 
month  the  eggs  were  taken  from  his  hens  and  hard-boiled 
eggs  put  in  their  place.  The  poor  man  was  at  his  wit's  end, 
and  lost  his  reputation  as  the  egg-boiling  Sous-prefet. 
Finally,  he  had  something  else  for  breakfast. 

Still,  he  never  suspected  the  Knights  of  Idlesse;  the  trick 
was  too  neatly  done.  Max  hit  on  a  plan  for  greasing  his 
stove-pipes  every  night  with  oil  saturated  with  such  vile 
odors  that  it  v.'as  impossible  to  live  in  the  house.  Nor  was 
this  all ;  one  morning  his  wife,  wishing  to  attend  mass,  found 
her  shawl  stuck  together  inside  by  some  glue  so  tenacious  that 
she  was  obliged  to  go  without  it.  The  official  begged  to  be 
transferred.  His  cowardice  and  submission  established  be- 
yond question  the  occult  and  farcial  sway  of  the  Knights  of 
Idlesse. 

Between  the  Rue  des  Minimes  and  the  Place  Misere  there 
existed  at  that  time  a  part  of  the  town  enclosed  between  the 
Borrowed  Stream  at  the  bottom  and  the  rampart  above — the 
part  extending  from  the  Parade  to  the  crockery  market. 
This  sort  of  misshapen  square  was  occupied  by  wretched- 
looking  houses,  closely  packed  and  divided  by  alleys  so  narrow 
that  two  persons  could  not  walk  abreast.  This  part  of  the 
town,  a  sort  of  Court  of  Miracles,  was  inhabited  by  poor 
people,  or  such  as  carried  on  the  least  profitable  trades, 
lodging  in  the  hovels  and  wretched  tenements  expressively  des- 
ignated as  maison  borgnes — purblind  houses.  It  was,  no 
doubt,  at  all  times  a  spot  accursed,  the  den  of  evil  livers,  for 
one  of  these  lanes  is  called  Rue  du  Bourreau,  or  Hangman's 
Alley.  It  is  certain  that  the  town  executioner  had  here  his 
house,  with  its  red  door,  for  more  than  five  centuries.  The 
executioner's  man  lives  there  still,  if  public  report  may  be 
believed,  for  the  townspeople  never  see  him.  None  but  the 
vine-dressers  keep  up  any  communication  with  this  mysteri- 
ous personage,  who  inherits  from  his  predecessors  the  gift  of 
healing  fractures  and  wounds.  The  women  of  the  town  held 
high  festival  here  of  old,  when  the  place  gave  itself  the  airs 


X20 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


of  a  capital.  Here  dwelt  the  dealers  in  second-hand  articles, 
which  never  seem  to  find  a  buyer,  old-clothes  vendors,  with 
their  malodorous  display ;  in  short,  all  the  mongrel  population 
that  herds  in  some  such  corner  of  almost  every  town,  under 
the  dominion  of  one  or  two  Jews. 

At  the  corner  of  one  of  these  dark  passages,  in  the  least 
dead-alive  part  of  the  suburb,  there  was,  from  1815  till  1823, 
and  perhaps  even  later,  a  beer-shop  kept  by  a  woman  known 
as  Mother  Cognette.  The  beer-shop  occupied  a  house  not 
ill  built  of  courses  of  w^hite  stone  filled  in  with  rubble  and 
mortar,  and  consisting  of  one  story  and  an  attic.  Over  the 
door  shone  an  immense  branch  of  a  fir-tree  gleaming  like 
Florentine  bronze.  As  if  this  "bush"  were  not  sufficiently 
explicit,  the  eye  was  caught  by  a  blue  board,  fastened  to  the 
architrave,  on  which  the  words  "Good  March  beer"  were  legible 
above  a  picture  representing  a  soldier  offering  to  a  very  lightly 
draped  woman  a  jet  of  foam  spouting  from  a  jug  into  the 
glass  she  holds,  and  forming  a  curve  like  the  arch  of  a  bridge, 
the  whole  so  gorgeously  colored  as  to  make  Delacroix  faint. 

The  ground  floor  consisted  of  a  large  front  room,  serving 
both  as  kitchen  and  dining-room;  the  provisions  needed  for 
carrying  on  the  business  hung  to  hooks  from  the  rafters.  Be- 
hind this  room  a  ladder-stair  went  up  to  the  first  floor;  but, 
at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  was  a  door  opening  into  a  small 
narrow  room,  lighted  from  one  of  those  provincial  back-yards 
which  are  more  like  a  chimney,  so  narrow,  dark,  and  high  are 
they.  This  little  room,  screened  by  a  lean-to,  and  hidden 
from  all  eyes  by  the  surrounding  walls,  was  the  hall  where 
the  Bad  Boys  of  Issoudun  held  their  full  court.  Old  Cognet 
ostensibly  entertained  the  country  people  there  on  market 
days ;  in  reality,  he  played  host  to  the  Knights  of  Idlesse. 

This  old  Cognet,  formerly  a  groom  in  some  rich  house,  had 
married  la  Cognette,  originally  a  cook  in  a  good  family.  The 
suburb  of  Rome  still  uses  a  feminine  form  of  the  husband's 
name  for  the  wife,  in  the  Latin  fashion,  as  in  Italy  and 
Poland.  By  combining  their  savings,  Cognet  and  his  wife 
had  been  able  to  buy  this  house  and  set  up  as  tavern-keepers. 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT  121 

La  Cognette,  a  woman  of  about  forty,  tall  and  buxom,  with 
turn-up  nose,  an  olive  skin,  hair  as  black  as  jet,  brown  eyes, 
round  and  bright,  and  an  intelligent,  merry  face,  had  been 
chosen  by  Maxence  Gilet  to  be  the  Leonarde  of  the  Order  for 
the  sake  of  her  good  humor  and  her  talents  as  a  cook.  Cognet 
himself  was  about  fifty-six,  thick-set,  submissive  to  his  wife, 
and,  to  quote  the  joke  she  constantly  repeated,  he  could  not 
help  seeing  straight,  for  he  was  blind  of  one  eye. 

For  seven  years,  from  1816  to  1823,  neither  husband  nor 
wife  ever  let  out  a  word  as  to  what  was  done  or  plotted  every 
night  on  their  premises,  and  they  were  always  very  much  at- 
tached to  all  the  Knights.  Their  devotion  was  indeed  perfect, 
but  it  may  seem  less  admirable  when  we  consider  that  their 
interest  was  a  guarantee  for  their  silence  and  affection.  At 
whatever  hour  of  the  night  the  members  of  the  Order  came 
to  la  Cognette^s,  if  they  knocked  in  a  particular  way,  Father 
Cognet,  recognizing  the  signal,  rose,  lighted  the  fire  and  the 
candles,  opened  the  door,  and  went  to  the  cellar  for  wine 
laid  in  expressly  for  the  Order,  while  his  wife  cooked  them  a 
first-rate  supper,  either  before  or  after  the  exploits  planned 
the  night  before,  or  during  the  day. 

While  Madame  Bridau  was  on  her  way  from  Orleans  to 
Issoudun,  the  Knights  of  Idlesse  were  preparing  one  of  their 
most  famous  tricks.  An  old  Spaniard,  a  prisoner  of  war, 
who,  at  the  peace,  had  remained  in  France,  where  he  carried 
on  a  small  trade  in  seeds,  had  come  to  market  early,  and  had 
left  his  empty  cart  at  the  foot  of  the  tower.  Maxence  was  the 
first  to  arrive  at  the  meeting-place  fixed  for  the  evening  under 
the  tower,  and  was  presently  asked  in  a  low  voice,  "What  is 
doing  to-night?" 

"Old  Fario's  cart  is  out  here,"  replied  he.  "I  almost  broke 
my  nose  against  it.  Let  us  get  it  up  the  knoll  to  the  foot  of 
the  tower,  and  after  that  we  will  see." 

When  Eichard  built  the  tower  of  Issoudun,  he  founded 
it,  as  has  been  said,  on  the  remains  of  a  basilica  which  oc- 
cupied the  site  of  the  Koman  temple  and  the  Celtic  Dun, 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


These  ruins,  each  representing  a  long  series  of  centuries, 
formed  a  large  mound,  full  of  the  monuments  of  inree  ages. 
Thus  Richard  Coeur  de  Lion's  tower  stands  on  the  top  of  a 
cone  sloping  equally  steeply  on  all  sides,  and  to  be  ascended 
only  by  zigzag  paths.  To  represent  its  position  in  a  few 
words,  the  tower  may  be  compared  to  the  Obelisk  of  Luxor 
on  its  base.  The  base  of  the  tower  of  Issoudun,  concealing  so 
many  archaeological  treasures  as  yet  unknown,  is  above  eighty 
feet  high  on  the  side  next  the  town.  In  an  hour  the  cart  had 
been  taken  to  pieces  and  hoisted  bit  by  bit  to  the  top  of  the 
hill  at  the  foot  of  the  tower,  by  means  something  like  that  of 
the  soldiers  who  carried  the  guns  up  the  pass  of  Saint- 
Bernard.  The  cart  was  put  together  again,  and  all  traces 
of  the  operations  so  carefully  effaced  that  it  would  seem  to 
have  been  carried  there  by  the  devil,  or  by  a  stroke  of  a 
fairy's  wand.  After  this  great  achievement,  the  Knights,  being 
hungry  and  thirsty,  made  their  way  to  la  Cognette's,  and  were 
soon  seated  round  the  table  in  the  low  narrow  room,  laughing 
by  anticipation  at  the  face  Fario  would  make  when,  at  about 
ten  o'clock  in  the  morning,  he  should  go  to  look  for  his  cart. 

The  Knights,  of  course,  did  not  play  these  antics  every 
night.  The  talents  of  Sganarelle,  Mascarille,  and  Scapin 
rolled  into  one  would  not  have  been  able  to  invent  three  hun- 
dred fc.nd  sixty-five  practical  jokes  a  year.  In  the  first  place., 
circumstances  were  not  always  favorable;  the  moon  was  too 
bright;  or  theii  last  prank  had  been  too  annoying  to  sober 
folks;  or  one  or  another  would  refuse  his  co-operation  w):en 
some  relation  was  the  chosen  victim.  But,  though  the  rascals 
did  not  meet  every  night  at  la  Cognette's,  they  saw  each  other 
every  day,  and  were  companions  in  such  lawful  pleasures  as 
hunting  or  the  vintage  in  autumn,  and  skating  in  winter. 

Among  this  group  of  a  score  of  youths  who  thus  protested 
against  the  social  somnolence  of  the  town,  some  were  more 
especially  intimate  with  Max  than  the  others,  or  made  him 
their  idol.  A  man  of  this  temper  often  infatuates  those 
younger  than  himself.  Now  Madame  Hochon's  two  grand- 
sons, Frangois  Hochon  and  Baruch  Boi'niche,  were  his 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


123 


devotees.  The  two  boys  regarded  Max  as  almost  a  cousin, 
accepting  the  views  of  the  neighbors  as  to  his  left-handed 
relationship  to  the  Lousteaus.  Max  was  free  with  his  loans 
of  money  denied  them  by  their  grandfather  Hochon  for  their 
amusements ;  he  took  them  out  shooting,  and  gave  them  some 
training;  in  fact,  his  influence  over  them  was  paramount  to 
that  of  home.  They  both  were  orphans,  and  though  of  age, 
lived  under  the  guardianship  of  their  grandfather,  in  con- 
sequence of  certain  circumstances  to  be  explained  when  the 
great  Monsieur  Hochon  appears  on  the  scene. 

At  this  moment  Frangois  and  Baruch — we  will  call  them 
by  their  Christian  names  to  make  the  story  clearer — were 
seated,  one  on  the  right  hand,  and  one  on  the  left  of  Max,  at 
the  middle  of  the  supper-table,  that  was  wretchedly  lighted  by 
the  fuliginous  glimmer  of  four  dips,  eight  to  the  pound.  The 
party,  consisting  of  not  more  than  eleven  of  the  Knights,  had 
drunk  a  dozen  to  fifteen  bottles  of  various  wines.  Baruch, 
whose  name  suggests  a  survival  of  Calvinism  at  Issoudun, 
said  to  Max  at  the  moment  when  the  wine  had  set  all  tongues 
wagging: 

"You  are  about  to  be  threatened  at  the  very  centre  

"What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?"  asked  Max. 

"Why,  my  grandmother  has  had  a  letter  from  Madame 
Bridau,  her  goddaughter,  announcing  her  arrival  on  a  visit 
with  her  son.  My  grandmother  arranged  two  rooms  yester- 
day for  their  reception.'^ 

"And  what  is  that  to  me  said  Max,  taking  up  his  glass, 
emptying  it  at  a  gulp,  and  setting  it  down  on  the  table  with  a 
comical  flourish. 

Max  was  now  four-and-thirty.  One  of  the  candles  stood' 
near  him,  and  cast  its  light  on  his  martial  countenance, 
illuminating  his  forehead,  and  showing  off'  his  fair  com- 
plexion, his  flashing  eyes,  and  his  hair  crisply  waved,  and  as 
black  as  jet.  This  hair  stood  up  strongly  and  naturally, 
curling  back  from  his  brow  and  temples,  and  clearly  marking 
the  outline  of  growth  which  our  grandfathers  called  the  five 
points.  Notwithstanding  such  a  striking  contrast  of  black 
VOL.  4-35 


124 


A  BACHELOH'S  ESTA^LlSttMEM 


and  white,  Max  had  a  very  sweet  face,  deriving  its  charm  from 
its  shape,  much  like  that  given  by  Eaphael  to  his  Virgin's 
faces,  and  from  a  finely-shaped  month,  on  which  a  gentle 
smile  was  apt  to  linger,  a  set  expression  which  Max  had 
gradually  adopted.  The  fine  color  that  flushes  the  faces  of 
the  Berrichons  added  to  his  genial  look,  and  when  he  laughed 
outright  he  displayed  two-and-thirty  teeth  worthy  to  grace 
the  mouth  of  a  fine  lady.  He  was  tall  and  well  proportioned, 
neither  stout  nor  thin.  His  hands,  kept  with  care,  were  white 
and  not  unshapely,  but  his  feet  were  those  of  the  Eoman 
suburb,  of  a  foot  soldier  under  the  Empire.  He  would  have 
made  a  fine  general  of  division ;  he  had  shoulders  that  would 
have  been  the  fortune  of  a  field-marshal,  and  a  breast  broad 
enough  to  display  all  the  Orders  of  Europe.  Intelligence 
gave  purpose  to  all  his  movements.  And  then,  attractive  by 
nature,  like  almost  all  children  of  a  passion,  the  noble  blood 
of  his  real  father  came  out  in  him. 

"But  do  not  you  know.  Max,''  cried  a  youth  at  the  bottom 
of  the  table,  the  son  of  a  retired  surgeon-major  named  Goddet, 
the  best  doctor  in  the  town,  "that  Madame  Hochon's  god- 
daughter is  Rouget's  sister?  And  if  she  and  her  son  the 
painter  are  coming  here,  it  is  no  doubt  to  get  back  her  share 
(jf  the  old  man's  fortune,  and  then  good-bye  to  your  harvest !" 

Max  frov/ned.  Then  v/ith  a  glance  that  went  from  face  to 
face  all  round  the  table,  he  studied  the  effect  on  his  com- 
panions of  this  address,  and  again  he  said,  "What  is  that  to 
me?" 

"But,"  Francois  began  again,  "it  seems  to  me  that  if  old 
Eouget  were  to  alter  his  will,  supposing  he  has  made  one  in 
favor  of  la  Rabouilleuse    .    .  ." 

Here  Max  cut  his  faithful  follower  short  with  these 
words : — 

"When,  on  my  arrival  here,  I  heard  you  mentioned  as  one 
of  the  cinq-Hochons  (cinq-cochons  =  five  pigs),  as  the  pun 
on  your  name  has  it — and  has  had  it  these  thirty  years — I 
told  the  man  who  called  you  so  to  shut  up,  my  dear  Frangois, 
and  that  so  emphatically,  that  no  one  at  Issoudun  has  ever 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


125 


repeated  that  idiotic  jest,  at  any  rate  not  in  my  presence! 
And  this  is  the  return  you  make :  you  make  use  of  a  name  of 
contempt  in  speaking  of  a  woman  you  know  me  to  be  attached 
to." 

Never  had  Max  said  so  much  as  to  his  intimacy  with  the 
woman  of  whom  Frangois  had  just  spoken  by  the  nickname 
commonly  given  to  her  in  Issoudun.  As  a  former  prisoner  on 
ithe  hulks,  Max  had  enough  experience,  and  as  Major  in  the 
Grenadier  Guards  he  had  learned  enough  of  honor,  to  under- 
stand the  origin  of  the  contempt  for  him  in  the  town.  He 
had  never  allowed  any  one  whatever  to  say  a  word  to  him  with 
reference  to  Mademoiselle  Flore  Brazier,  Jean- Jacques 
Eouget's  servant-mistress,  so  vigorously  designated  by  good 
Madame  Hochon  as  a  hussy.  Moreover,  Max  was  well  known 
to  be  too  touchy  to  be  spoken  to  on  the  subject  unless  he  began 
it,  and  he  never  had  begun  it.  In  short,  it  was  too  dangerous 
to  incur  Max's  anger  or  displeasure  for  even  his  most  intimate 
friends  to  banter  him  about  la  Eabouilleuse. 

When  something  was  once  said  of  a  connection  between 
Max  and  this  girl  in  the  presence  of  Major  Potel  and  of 
Captain  Eenard,  the  two  officers  with  whom  he  lived  on  terms 
of  equality,  Potel  had  replied : 

"If  he  is  J ean- Jacques  Eouget's  half-brother,  why  should, 
he  not  live  with  him  ?" 

*'And  besides,"  added  Eenard,  "the  girl  is  a  morsel  for  a. 
king;  supposing  he  loves  her,  where  is  the  harm?  Does  not 
young  Goddet  pay  court  to  Madame  Fichet  to  make  the 
daughter  his  wife  as  a  reward  for  such  a  penance  ?" 

After  this  well-merited  lecture,  Frangois  could  not  recover 
the  thread  of  his  ideas,  and  he  was  yet  more  at  fault  when 
Max  gently  added: 

"Well,  go  on  " 

"Certainly  not!"  cried  Frangois. 

"You  are  angry  for  nothing.  Max,"  said  young  Goddet. 
"Is  it  not  an  understood  thing  that  here,  at  la  Cognette's,  we 
may  all  say  what  we  please?  Should  we  not  all  become  the 
mortal  foes  of  any  one  of  us  who  remembered  outside  these 


126 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


walls  anything  that  is  said,  thought,  or  done  here?  All  the 
town  speaks  of  Flore  Brazier  by  the  nickname  of  la  Rabouil- 
leuse ;  if  Frangois  let  it  slip  out  by  accident,  is  that  a  crime 
against  the  Order  of  Idlesse 

"No,"  said  Max,  "only  against  our  personal  friendship. 
= — But  I  thought  better  of  it ;  I  remembered  we  were  in  Idlesse. 
I  told  him  to  go  on." 

There  was  utter  silence.  The  pause  was  so  uncomfortable 
for  all  present  that  Max  exclaimed:  "I  will  go  on  for  him" 
(sensation),  "for  all  of  you"  (amazement),  "and  tell  you  what 
you  are  thinking"  (great  sensation).  "You  think  that  Flore, 
la  Rabouilleuse,  Flore  Brazier,  Daddy  Rouget's  housekeeper 
— for  they  call  him  Pere  Rouget ! — an  old  bachelor,  who  will 
never  have  any  children ! — you  think,  I  say,  that  this  woman 
has  supplied  me  with  everything  since  I  came  to  Issoudun. 
If  I  have  three  hundred  francs  a  month  to  toss  out  of  window; 
if  I  can  treat  you  often  as  I  am  doing  this  evening,  and  have 
money  to  lend  to  you  all,  I  must  get  the  cash  out  of  Madame 
Brazier's  purse  ?  Well,  then,  by  Heaven !  Yes,  and  again 
yes. — Yes,  Mademoiselle  Brazier  has  taken  deadly  aim  at  the 
old  man's  fortune." 

"From  father  to  son  she  will  have  richly  earned  it,"  said 
Goddet  in  his  corner. 

"You  believe,"  Max  went  on,  after  smiling  at  Goddet's 
remark,  "that  I  have  laid  a  plot  to  marry  Flore  after  the  old 
man's  death,  and  that  then  his  sister,  and  this  son,  of  whom 
I  never  heard  till  this  instant,  will  endanger  my  future 
prospects  ?" 

"That's  it,"  cried  Frangois. 

"So  we  all  think  round  this  table,"  said  Baruch. 

"Well,  be  calm,  my  boys,"  replied  Max;  "forewarned  is 
forearmed.  Now,  I  speak  to  the  Knights  of  Idlesse.  If,  to 
be  rid  of  these  Parisians,  I  need  the  support  of  the  Order,  will 
you  lend  me  a  hand?  Oh,  within  the  limits  we  have  pre- 
scribed for  our  pranks,"  he  quickly  added,  seeing  a  slight 
hesitancy.  "Do  3^ou  suppose  I  want  to  murder  or  poison 
them  ? — Thank  God,  I  am  not  a  fool !    And  supposing,  after 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT  127 

all,  that  the  Bridaus  should  win  the  day,  and  Flore  should  get 
no  more  than  she  has,  I  should  be  satisfied  with  that,  do  you 
hear?  I  like  her  well  enough  to  prefer  her  to  Mademoiselle 
Fichet,  if  Mademoiselle  Fichet  would  have  anything  to  say  to 
me  r 

Mademoiselle  Fichet  was  the  richest  heiress  of  Issoudun; 
and  the  daughter's  hand  formed  a  large  item  in  young  God- 
det's  passion  for  her  mother. 

Plain  speaking  is  so  precious,  that  the  eleven  Knights  rose 
as  one  man. 

"You  are  of  the  right  sort.  Max 

"That  is  something  like.  Max.  We  will  be  the  Knights  of 
Salvation.'^ 

"Down  with  the  Bridaus 
"We  will  bridle  the  Bridaus  V 

"After  all,  a  sweetheart  has  been  known  to  have  three  hus- 
bands r 

"Deuce  take  it,  old  Lousteau  was  fond  of  Madame  Rouget, 
and  there  is  less  harm  in  courting  a  housekeeper  free  and  un- 
fettered V 

"And  if  old  Rouget  was  Max's  father  more  or  less,  it  is  all 
in  the  family 

"Opinions  are  free!'' 
"Hurrah  for  Max !" 
"Down  with  cant !" 

"Let  us  drink  the  fair  Flore's  health !" 

Such  were  the  eleven  answers,  acclamations,  or  toasts  that 
broke  from  the  eleven  Knights  of  Idlesse,  the  outcome,  it  must 
be  owned,  of  their  very  low  standard  of  morality.  We  see 
now  what  Max's  object  had  been  in  establishing  himself  as 
Grand  Master  of  the  Order.  While  inventing  practical  jokes, 
and  making  himself  agreeable  to  the  youth  of  the  principal 
families.  Max  hoped  to  secure  their  suffrages  in  the  day  of  his 
rehabilitation.  He  rose  with  a  grace,  lifted  his  glass  full  of 
Bordeaux,  and  all  awaited  his  next  speech. 

"For  all  the  ill  I  wish  you,  I  only  hope  you  may  all  get 
wives  to  compare  with  the  fair  Flore!    As  to  the  incursion 


128 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


of  relations,  for  the  present  I  am  not  alarmed;  and  later, 
we  shall  see!^^ 

"We  must  not  forget  Fario's  cart !" 

"Oh,  that  is  safe  enough,  by  J ove !"  said  Goddet. 

"I  will  see  to  the  fitting  conclusion  of  that  joke/'  cried  Max. 
"Be  early  at  the  market,  and  come  and  let  me  know  when  the 
old  fellow  comes  to  look  for  his  cart.'' 

The  clocks  were  striking  half -past  three  in  the  morning*, 
the  Knights  went  away  in  silence  to  find  their  way  home, 
hugging  the  wall,  and  not  making  a  sound,  all  being  shod 
with  list  shoes. 

Max  slowly  walked  up  to  the  Place  Saint-Jean  in  the  upper 
part  of  the  town,  between  the  Porte  Saint-Jean  and  the  Porte 
Villa te,  the  rich  citizens'  quarter.  Major  Gilet  had  dis- 
sembled his  fears,  but  this  news  had  hit  him  hard.  Since  his 
stay  above  or  below  decks  he  had  acquired  a  power  of  dissimu- 
lation as  great  and  deep  as  his  depravement.  In  the  first 
place,  and  above  all,  the  forty  thousand  francs  a  year  in  land 
owned  by  Eouget  was  the  whole  of  Gilet's  passion  for  Flore 
Brazier,  of  that  you  may  be  sure !  It  may  easily  be  seen  from 
his  mode  of  conduct  what  confidence  she  had  led  him  to  feel 
in  her  future  fortune,  as  based  on  the  old  bachelor's  affection. 
At  the  same  time,  the  news  that  the  legitimate  heirs  were  on 
their  way  was  enough  to  shake  Max's  faith  in  Flore's  in- 
fluence. The  savings  of  the  last  seventeen  years  still  stood  in 
Eouget's  name.  Now  if  the  will,  which  Flore  declared  had 
long  since  been  executed  in  her  favor,  should  be  revoked,  these 
savings  at  any  rate  might  be  secured  if  they  were  invested  in 
the  name  of  Mademoiselle  Brazier. 

"In  all  these  seven  years,  that  idiot  of  a  girl  has  never 
spoken  a  word  about  nephews  and  a  sister!"  said  Max  to  him 
self,  as  he  turned  out  of  the  Rue  Marmouse  into  the  Rue 
TAvenier.  "Seven  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs  in  the 
hands  of  ten  or  twelve  different  notaries,  at  Bourges,  Vierzon, 
and  Chateauroux,  cannot  be  drawn  out  or  invested  in  State 
securities  within  a  week  without  its  being  known  in  a  land  of 
'jaw.'    To  begin  with^  we  must  pack  off  the  relations;  but 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


129 


once  quit  of  them,  we  must  make  haste  and  secure  that  for- 
tune.   Well,  I  must  think  it  over." 

Max  was  tired.  He  went  into  Rouget's  house  with  a  latch- 
key, and  crept  noiselessly  to  bed,  saying  to  himself,  "To-mor- 
row my  ideas  will  be  clearer." 

It  will  not  be  useless  here  to  explain  whence  the  Sultana  of 
the  Place  Saint-Jean  had  obtained  the  nickname  of  la  Ra- 
bouilleuse,  and  how  she  had  gained  the  command  of  the 
Rouget  establishment. 

As  he  had  advanced  in  years,  the  old  doctor,  father  of 
Jean- Jacques  and  of  Madame  Bridau,  had  become  aware  of 
his  son's  utter  stupidity.  He  then  held  him  very  tight,  trying 
to  force  him  into  habits  w^hich  would  take  the  place  of  Vv^isdom ; 
but  by  this  means,  without  knowing  it,  he  was  preparing  him 
to  be  tame  under  the  first  tyrant  that  might  succeed  in  getting 
the  halter  round  his  neck.  One  day,  as  he  rode  home  from 
his  rounds,  the  wily  and  vicious  old  man  saw  a  lovely  little 
girl  on  the  skirt  of  the  water-meadow  by  the  avenue  to  Tivoli. 
On  hearing  the  horse,  the  child  rose  up  from  the  bottom  of 
one  of  the  channels,  which,  seen  from  the  height  of  Issoudun, 
look  like  silver  ribbons  on  a  green  dress.  Starting  up  like  a 
naiad,  the  girl  displayed  to  the  doctor  one  of  the  sweetest 
virgin  heads  that  ever  painter  dreamed  of.  Old  Rouget,  who 
knew  the  whole  neighborhood,  did  not  know  this  miracle  of 
beauty.  The  child,  almost  naked,  wore  a  tattered  and  scanty 
petticoat  full  of  holes,  and  made  of  cheap  woolen  stuff,  striped 
brown  and  white.  A  sheet  of  paper,  fastened  down  by  an 
osier  vv^ithy,  served  her  for  a  hat.  Under  this  paper,  scrawled, 
over  with  strokes  and  O's,  fully  justifying  its  name  of  scrib- 
bling paper,  was  gathered  up  the  most  beautiful  golden  hair 
that  any  daughter  of  Eve  could  desire,  fastened  in  a  twist 
>with  a  horse's  curry-comb.  Her  pretty  sunburnt  bosom^ 
scarcely  covered  by  the  rags  of  a  handkerchief  that  had  once 
been  a  bandana,  showed  its  whiteness  below  the  sunburn.  The 
petticoat,  pulled  through  between  the  legs  and  fastened  by  a 
coarse  pin,  looked  a  good  deal  like  a  swimmer's  bathing 


130  A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


drawers.  Her  feet  and  legs,  visible  through  the  clear  water, 
were  characterized  by  a  slenderness  worthy  of  the  sculptors  of 
the  Middle  Ages.  This  fair  body,  from  exposure  to  the  sun, 
had  a  rosy  hue  which  was  not  ungraceful ;  the  neck  and  bosom 
were  worthy  to  be  covered  by  a  silken  shawL  Finally,  the 
nymph  had  blue  eyes^  shaded  by  lashes  whose  expression  would 
have  brought  a  painter  or  a  poet  to  his  knees.  The  doctor, 
enough  of  an  anatomist  to  know  a  lovely  figure,  perceived 
that  all  the  arts  would  be  losers  if  this  exquisite  person  were 
destroyed  by  field  labor. 

"Where  do  you  come  from,  little  one?  I  never  saw  you 
before,"  said  the  old  doctor  of  sixty-two. 

The  scene  took  place  in  the  month  of  September  1799. 

"I  belong  to  Vatan,"  replied  the  girl. 

On  hearing  a  town  accent,  an  ill-looking  man,  about  two 
hundred  yards  away,  standing  in  the  upper  waters  of  the 
stream,  raised  his  head. 

"Now,  then,  what  are  you  at,  Flore  he  called  out.  "Jab- 
bering there  instead  of  working;  all  the  basketful  will  get 
off.r 

"And  what  do  you  come  here  for  from  Vatan?"  asked  the 
doctor,  not  troubling  himself  about  this  interruption. 

"I  rabouille  for  my  uncle  Brazier  there." 

Rabouiller  is  a  local  word  of  le  Berry,  which  perfectly 
describes  the  process  it  is  meant  to  represent — the  action  of 
stirring  the  waters  of  a  brooklet  by  beating  them  with  a  sort 
of  large  racket  made  of  the  branch  of  a  tree.  The  crayfish, 
frightened  by  the  commotion,  of  which  they  fail  to  see  the 
purpose,  hastily  escape  up  stream,  and  in  their  agitation  rush 
into  the  nets,  which  the  poacher  has  placed  at  a  proper  dis- 
tance. Flore  Brazier  held  her  racket,  or  rdbouilloir,  with-  the 
unconscious  grace  of  innocence. 

"But  has  your  uncle  got  leave  to  fish  for  crayfish?*' 

"^Well,  and  aren't  we  under  the  Eepublic  one  and  indi- 
visible ?"  shouted  uncle  Brazier  from  where  he  stood. 

"We  are  under  the  Directory,"  said  the  doctor ;  "and  I  know 
of  no  law  which  will  allow  a  man  from  Vatan  to  come  and 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT  ISi 

fish  within  the  limits  of  the  Commune  of  Issoudun."  Then 
he  said  to  Flore,  "Is  your  mother  living,  child 

"No,  sir,  and  my  father  is  in  hospital  at  Bourges;  he  went 
mad  after  getting  a  sunstroke  on  his  head  in  the  fields  

"How  much  do  you  earn 

"Five  sous  a  day  all  the  season  for  crayfish — I  goes  to 
Braisne,  ever  so  far,  to  beat  the  waters.  Then  in  harvest- 
time,  I  gleans;  and  in  winter,  I  spins/' 

"You  are  about  twelve,  I  suppose?" 

"Yes,  sir/' 

"Would  you  like  to  come  with  me?  You  shall  be  well 
fed,  nicely  dressed,  have  pretty  shoes  " 

"No,  no.  My  niece  has  got  to  stay  wi'  me.  I  have  her  in 
charge  before  God  and  man,"  said  uncle  Brazier,  who  had 
come  down  to  his  niece  and  the  doctor.  "I  am  her  guardiart, 
I  am." 

The  doctor  preserved  his  gravity,  suppressing  a  smile, 
which  would  certainly  have  been  too  much  for  any  one  else  at 
the  sight  of  uncle  Brazier.  This  "guardian"  had  on  a 
peasant's  broad  hat,  ruined  by  the  sun  and  rain,  riddled  like 
a  cabbage  leaf  on  which  many  caterpillars  have  resided,  and 
sewn  up  with  white  cotton.  Under  this  hat  was  a  dark  hollow 
face,  in  which  mouth,  nose,  and  eyes  were  four  darker  spots. 
His  worn  jacket  was  like  a  piece  of  patchwork,  and  hi„s 
trousers  were  of  sacking. 

"I  am  Doctor  Eouget,"  said  the  physician ;  "and,  since  you 
are  the  child's  guardian,  bring  her  to  my  house,  Place  Saint- 
Jean;  it  will  not  be  a  bad  day's  work  for  you  or  for  her  either." 

And  without  another  word,  feeling  quite  sure  that  he 
should  see  uncle  Brazier  in  due  course  with  the  pretty  Eabouil- 
leuse,  Doctor  Rouget  spurred  his  horse  on  the  road  to  Issou- 
dun.  And,  in  fact,  just  as  he  was  sitting  down  to  dinner, 
his  cook  announced  Citoyen  and  Citoyenne  Brazier. 

"Sit  down,"  said  the  doctor  to  the  uncle  and  niece. 

Flore  and  her  guardian,  both  barefoot,  looked  round  the 
doctor's  dining-room  with  eyes  amazed;  and  this  was  why. 

The  house,  inherited  by  Rouget  from  old  Descoings,  stands 


132  A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 

in  the  middle  of  one  side  of  the  Place  Saint- Jean,  a  long  and 
very  narrow  square  planted  with  a  few  sickly-looking  lime- 
trees.  The  houses  here  are  better  built  than  in  any  other  part 
of  the  town,  and  Descoings'  is  one  of  the  best.  This  house, 
facing  Monsieur  Hochon's,  has  three  windows  on  the  front 
towards  the  square,  on  the  first  floor,  and  below  them  a  car- 
riage gate  into  the  courtyard,  behind  which  the  garden  lies 
Under  the  archway  of  this  carriage  gate  is  a  door  into  a  large 
room  with  two  windows  to  the  street.  The  kitchen  is  behind 
this  room,  but  cut  off  by  a  staircase  leading  to  the  first  floor 
and  attics  above.  At  an  angle  with  the  kitchen  are  a  wood- 
house,  a  shed  vv^here  the  washing  was  done,  stabling  for  two 
Jiorses,  and  a  coach-house ;  and  above  them  are  lofts  for  corn, 
hay,  and  oats,  besides  a  room  where  the  doctor's  man-servant 
dept. 

The  room  so  much  admired  by  the  little  peasant  girl  and 
her  uncle  was  decorated  with  carved  wood  in  the  style  executed 
under  Louis  XV.,  and  painted  gray,  and  a  handsome  marble 
vchimney-piece,  above  which  Flore  could  see  herself  in  a  large 
glass  reaching  to  the  ceiling,  and  set  in  a  carved  and  gilt 
frame.  On  the  panels,  at  intervals,  hung  a  few  pictures,  the 
spoil  of  the  Abbeys  of  Deols,  of  Issoudun,  of  Saint-Gildas,  of 
la  Free,  of  Chezal-Benoit,  of  Saint-Sulpice,  and  of  the  con- 
vents of  Bourges  and  Issoudun,  which  had  formerly  been  en- 
riched by  the  liberality  of  kings  and  of  the  faithful  with 
precious  gifts  and  the  finest  works  of  the  Eenaissanee.  Thus, 
among  the  pictures  preserved  by  Descoings  and  inherited 
by  Kouget,  there  v/as  a  Holy  Family  by  Albano,  a  Saint 
Jerome  by  Domenichino,  a  Head  of  Christ  by  Gian  Bellini, 
a  Virgin  by  Leonardo  da  Vinci,  Christ  bearing  the  Cross  by 
Titian,  from  the  Marchese  di  Belabre's  collection — he  who 
stood  a  siege  and  had  his  head  cut  off  under  Louis  XIII. :  a 
Lazarus  by  Veronese,  a  Marriage  of  the  Virgin  by  the  Priest 
of  Genoa,  two  Church  pictures  by  Rubens,  and  a  copy  from 
Perugino  by  Perugino  himself,  or  by  Raphael;  finally,  two 
Correggios  and  an  Andrea  del  Sarto.  The  Descoings  had 
chosen  these  from,  among  three  hundred,  the  spoils  of 


A  BACHELOR'^^  ESTABLISHMENT 


133 


churches,  not  in  the  least  knowing  their  value,  and  selecting 
them  solely  for  their  better  condition.  Several  had  not 
merely  magnificent  frames,  but  were  under  glass.  It  was  the 
beauty  of  the  frames,  and  the  value  which  the  panes  seemed 
to  suggest,  that  had  led  to  their  choice. 

Thus  the  furniture  of  the  room  was  not  devoid  of  the 
luxury  so  much  prized  in  our  days,  though  not  at  that  time 
valued  at  Issoudun.  The  clock  standing  on  the  chimney- 
shelf  between  two  superb  silver  chandeliers  was  distinguished 
by  a  solemn  magnificence  that  betrayed  the  hand  of  Boule. 
The  armchairs  in  carved  wood,  fitted  with  worsted-work  done 
by  devout  ladies  of  rank,  would  be  highly  prized  in  these  days, 
for  they  all  bore  coronets  and  coats  of  arms.  Between  the 
two  windows  stood  a  handsome  console,  brought  from  some 
chateau,  and  on  it  an  enormous  Chinese  jar,  in  which  the 
doctor  kept  his  tobacco. 

Neither  Eouget,  nor  his  son,  nor  the  cook,  nor  the  man- 
servant, took  the  least  care  of  these  treasures.  They  spit 
into  a  fireplace  of  beautiful  workmanship,  and  the  gilt  mould- 
ings were  variegated  with  verdigris.  A  pretty  chandelier, 
partly  of  porcelain,  was  speckled,  like  the  ceiling,  with  black 
spots,  showing  that  the  flies  were  at  home  there.  The  Des- 
coings  had  hung  the  windows  with  brocade  curtains,  stripped 
from  the  bed  of  some  Abbot.  To  the  left  of  the  door  a  cabinet 
worth  some  thousands  of  francs  served  as  a  sideboard. 

'^Now,  Fanchette,^^  said  the  doctor  to  his  cook,  "bring  two 
glasses,  and  fetch  us  something  good.^^ 

Fanchette,  a  sturdy  country  servant,  who  was  regarded  as 
superior  even  to  la  Cognette  and  the  best  cook  in  Issoudun, 
fiew  with  an  alacrity  that  testified  to  the  doctor's  despotic  rule, 
and  also  to  some  curiosity  on  her  part. 

"What  is  an  acre  of  vine-land  worth  in  your  parts?''  said 
the  doctor,  pouring  out  a  glass  of  wine  for  Brazier. 

"A  hundred  crowns  in  hard  cash." 

"Well,  leave  your  niece  here  as  maid-servant;  she  shall 
have  a  hundred  crowns  for  wages,  and  you,  as  her  guardian, 
shall  take  the  money 


134 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


"Every  year?'^  said  Brazier,  opening  his  eyes  as  large  as 
saucers. 

"I  leave  the  matter  to  your  conscience/'  replied  the  doctor. 
"She  is  an  orphan.  Till  she  is  eighteen  Flore  will  have  none 
of  the  money.'' 

"She  is  goin'  on  for  twelve,"  said  the  uncle ;  "that  makes  it 
up  to  six  acres  of  vine-land.  But  she  is  sweetly  pretty,  as 
mild  as  a  lamb,  very  strong,  very  quick,  very  obedient.  Poor 
creetur,  she  was  the  apple  of  his  eye  to  my  poor  brother." 

"And  I  will  pay  a  year  in  advance,"  said  the  doctor. 

"Lord  A'mighty,  make  it  two  years,  and  us'll  consider  it 
settled.  She  will  be  better  off  with  you  than  down  at  our 
place,  for  my  wife  whacks  her,  she  can't  abide  her.  There's 
only  me  that  purtects  her,  poor  dear  little  creetur — as  inno- 
cent as  a  new-born  babe  !" 

On  hearing  this  speech,  the  doctor,  struck  by  the  word  in- 
nocent, signed  to  uncle  Brazier,  and  led  him  out  into  the 
courtyard,  and  from  thence  into  the  garden,  leaving  the  little 
Eabouilleuse  looking  at  the  table  between  Fanchette  and  Jean- 
Jacques,  who  cross-questioned  her,  and  to  whom  she  artlessly 
related  her  meeting  with  the  doctor. 

"Well,  honey,  good-bye,"  said  uncle  Brazier  on  his  return, 
kissing  Flore  on  the  forehead.  "You  may  thank  me  for  a 
good  job  in  leaving  you  with  this  kind  and  generous  father  of 
the  poor.  You've  got  to  obey  him  like  as  you  would  me.  Be 
a  very  good  girl,  and  do  what  he  tells  you." 

"Get  the  room  over  mine  ready,"  said  the  doctor  to  Fan- 
chette. "This  little  Flore,  who  is  certainly  well  named,  will 
sleep  there  from  this  evening.  To-morrow  we  will  send  for 
a  shoemaker  and  a  needlewoman.  N"ow,  lay  a  place  for  her 
at  once ;  she  will  keep  us  company." 

That  evening  nothing  was  talked  of  in  Issoudun  but  the 
introduction  of  a  little  "Eabouilleuse"  into  Doctor  Eouget's 
household.  The  nickname  stuck  to  Mademoiselle  Brazier  in 
this  land  of  mocking  spirits,  before,  during,  and  after  her 
rise  to  fortune. 

The  doctor  aimed,  no  doubt,  at  doing  for  Flore,  in  a  small 


A  BACHEI^OR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


185 


way,  what  Louis  XV.  did  on  a  large  scale  for  Mademoiselle 
de  Eomans ;  but  he  set  to  work  too  late,  Louis  XV.  was  still 
young,  while  the  doctor  was  on  the  verge  of  old  age. 

From  twelve  years  old  to  fourteen  the  charming  peasant 
girl  enjoyed  unmixed  happiness.  Nicely  dressed,  in  infinitely 
better  clothes  than  the  richest  Miss  in  Issoudun,  she  had  a 
gold  watch  and  trinkets,  given  her  by  the  doctor  to  encourage 
her  in  her  studies,  for  she  had  a  master  to  teach  her  reading, 
^writing,  and  account-keeping.  But  the  almost  animal  life 
led  by  the  peasantry  had  given  Flore  such  an  aversion  for  the 
bitter  cup  of  learning,  that  the  doctor  got  no  further  with  her 
education. 

His  intentions  with  regard  to  this  girl  whom  he  was  polish- 
ing, teaching,  and  training  with  a  care  that  was  all  the  more 
pathetic,  because  he  had  been  supposed  incapable  of  tenderness, 
were  variously  interpreted  by  the  vulgar  gossips  of  the  town, 
whose  tattle  gave  rise,  as  in  the  matter  of  Agathe^s  and  Max's 
parentage,  to  serious  mistakes.  It  Ib  not  easy  for  the  popula* 
tion  of  a  town  to  disentangle  the  truth  from  a  thousand  con- 
jectures in  the  midst  of  contradictory  comments,  and  among 
all  the  hypotheses  to  which  a  single  fact  gives  rise.  In  the 
provinces,  as  formerly  among  the  politicians  of  la  petite 
Provence  at  the  Tuileries,  everything  must  be  accounted  for, 
and  at  last  everybody  knows  everything.  But  each  individual 
clings  to  the  view  of  affairs  that  he  prefers;  that  is  the  only 
true  one,  he  can  prove  it,  and  believes  his  own  version  ex- 
clusively. Hence,  notwithstanding  the  unscreened  life  and 
the  espionage  of  a  country  town,  the  truth  is  often  obscured, 
and  can  be  detected  only  by  the  impartiality  of  the  historian, 
or  of  a  superior  mind  looking  down  from  a  higher  point  of 
view. 

"What  do  you  suppose  that  old  ape  wants,  at  his  age,  of  a 
child  of  fifteen  ?"  said  one  and  another,  two  years  after  Flore's 
arrival. 

"What  indeed?"  replied  a  third;  "his  high  days  are  long 
since  past  and  gone.'' 

"My  dear  fellow,  the  doctor  is  disgusted  with  his  idiot  of  a 


1S6 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


son.  and  he  cannot  get  over  his  hatred  of  Agathe;  in  that 
dilemma  perhaps  he  has  been  such  a  good  boy  these  two  years 
past  in  order  to  marry  the  girl;  and  he  might  have  a  boy  by 
her,  strong  and  sturdy  and  wide  awake  like  Max,"  observed  a 
wisehead. 

"Get  along!  Do  you  suppose  that  after  leading  such  a 
life  as  Lousteau  and  Rouget  did  between  1770  and  1787,  a 
man  of  sixty-two  is  likely  to  have  children  ?  Not  a  bit  of  it ; 
the  old  wretch  has  read  his  old  testament,  if  only  from  a 
medical  point  of  view,  and  he  knows  how  King  David  warmed 
himself  in  his  old  age.    That  is  all,  my  good  fellow." 

"They  say  that  Brazier,  when  he  is  fuddled,  boasts  at 
Vatan  that  he  stole  the  child,"  cried  one  of  those  people  who 
prefer  to  believe  the  worst. 

"Bless  me !  neighbor,  and  what  won't  folks  say  at  Issou- 
dun?" 

From  1800  to  1805,  for  five  years,  the  doctor  had  the 
pleasure  of  educating  Flore  without  the  worry  which  Made- 
moiselle de  Romans  is  said  to  have  given  to  Louis  the  Well- 
beloved  by  her  ambitions  and  pretensions.  The  little  Ra- 
bouilleuse  was  so  happy,  comparing  the  position  she  now  was 
in  with  the  life  she  would  have  led  with  her  uncle,  that  she 
submitted,  no  doubt,  to  her  master's  requirements,  as  an 
Eastern  slave  does. 

With  all  respect  to  the  writers  of  idyls  and  to  philan- 
thropists, the  sons  of  the  soil  have  but  vague  notions  of  cer- 
tain virtues;  their  scruples  have  their  root  in  self-interest, 
not  in  any  feeling  for  the  good  and  beautiful ;  brought  up  to 
look  forward  to  poverty,  to  incessant  toil  and  want,  the 
prospect  makes  them  regard  everything  as  allowable  that  can 
rescue  them  from  the  hell  of  hunger  and  everlasting  laboi, 
3specially  if  it  is  not  prohibited  by  law.  If  there  are  ex- 
ceptions, they  are  rare.  Virtue,  socially  speaking,  is  mated 
with  ease,  and  begins  with  education.  Flore  Brazier  was, 
therefore,  an  object  of  envy  to  every  girl  for  six  leagues 
round  Issoudun,  though  in  the  eye  of  religion  her  conduct 
was  in  the  highest  degree  reprehensible. 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


137 


Flore,  born  in  1787,  was  brought  up  amid  the  Saturnalia 
of  1793  and  1798,  whose  lurid  light  was  reflected  on  a  land 
bereft  of  priesthood,  worship,  altars,  or  religious  ceremonies, 
where  m^arriage  was  a  civil  contract,  and  wliere  revolutionary 
axioms  left  a  deep  impression,  especially  at  Issoudun,  where 
rebellion  is  traditional.  Catholic  worship  was  hardly  re- 
established in  1802.  The  Emperor  had  some  difficulty  in 
finding  priests;  even  in  1806  many  a  parish  in  France  was 
ttill  in  widowhood,  so  slov/ly  could  a  clergy  decimated  by  the 
scaffold  be  reinstated  after  such  violent  dispersal.  Hence, 
in  1802,  there  was  nothing  to  accuse  Flore  but  her  own  con- 
science. In  uncle  Brazier's  ward  was  not  conscience  likely  to 
prove  w^eaker  than  interest?  Though  the  cynical  doctor's 
age  led  him,  as  there  is  every  reason  to  suppose,  to  respect  this 
maiden  of  fifteen,  she  was  not  the  less  regarded  as  a  very  wide- 
awake young  person.  However,  some  people  insisted  on  find- 
ing a  certificate  of  innocence  in  the  cessation  of  the  doctor's 
care  and  kindness ;  for  the  last  two  years  of  his  life  he  treated 
her  with  more  than  coldness. 

Old  Kouget  had  killed  enough  people  to  be  able  to  foresee 
his  own  end.  His  notary,  finding  him  on  his  deathbed, 
wrapped  in  the  cloak  of  encyclopedist  philosophy,  urged  him 
to  do  something  for  the  young  girl,  then  seventeen  years  old. 

"Very  good,  make  her  of  age,  emancipate  her,"  said  he. 

The  reply  is  characteristic  of  this  old  man,  who  never  failed 
to  point  his  sarcasm  wdth  an  allusion  to  the  profession  of  the 
man  he  was  answering.  By  veiling  his  evil  deeds  under  a 
witticism  he  obtained  forgiveness  for  them  in  a  part  of  the 
world  where  wit  ahvays  wins  the  day,  especially  when  it  is 
backed  up  by  intelligent  self-interest.  The  notary  heard  in  this 
speech  the  concentrated  hatred  of  a  man  whom  Nature  had 
balked  of  an  intended  debauch,  and  his  revenge  on  the  inno- 
cent object  of  his  senile  affection.  This  opinion  w^as,  to  some 
extent,  confirmed  by  the  doctor's  obduracy;  he  left  nothing 
to  la  Eabouilleuse,  saying  with  a  bitter  smile,  "Her  beauty 
is  wealth  enough !"  when  the  notary  again  pressed  the  matter. 

Jean-Jacques  Rouget  did  not  mourn  for  the  old  man,  but 


138 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


Flore  did.  The  doctor  had  made  his  son  very  unhappy,  es- 
pecially since  he  had  come  of  age,  which  was  in  1791 ;  whereas 
he  had  given  the  little  peasant  girl  the  material  happiness 
which  is  the  ideal  of  laboring  folk.  When,  after  the  old  man 
was  buried,  Fanchette  said  to  Flore,  "Well,  what  is  to  become 
of  you  now  that  monsieur  is  gone  ?"  Jean- Jacques'  eyes  beamed, 
and  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  his  stolid  face  lighted  up, 
seemed  to  shine  with  a  flash  of  thought,  and  expressed  a 
feeling. 

"Leave  her  with  me,"  said  he  to  Fanchette,  who  was  clear- 
ing the  table. 

Flore,  at  seventeen,  still  had  that  refinement  of  figure  and 
face,  that  elegance  of  beauty  which  had  bewitched  the  doctor ; 
women  of  the  world  know  how  to  preserve  it,  but  in  a  peasant 
girl  it  fades  as  swiftly  as  the  flowers  of  the  field.  At  the  same 
time,  the  tendency  to  become  stout,  which  comes  to  all  hand- 
some country  women  when  they  do  not  lead  a  life  of  toil  and 
] privation  in  the  ojjen  fields  and  sunshine,  was  already  notice- 
able in  Flore.  Her  bust  was  large,  her  round,  white  shoulders 
were  richly  moulded  and  finely  joined  to  a  throat  that  al- 
ready showed  fat  wrinkles.  But  the  shape  of  her  face  was 
Sitill  pure,  and  her  chin  as  yet  delicately  cut. 

"Flore,''  said  J ean- Jacques  in  agitated  tones,  "you  are  quite 
used  to  this  house 

"Yes,  Monsieur  Jacques." 

On  the  very  verge  of  a  declaration,  the  heir  felt  his  tongue 
tied  by  the  remembrance  of  the  dead  man  but  now  laid  in  his 
grave,  and  wondered  to  what  lengths  his  father's  benevolence 
might  have  gone.  Flore,  looking  at  her  new  master,  and  in- 
capable of  imagining  his  simplicity,  waited  for  some  minutes 
for  J  ean- Jacques  to  proceed ;  but  she  presently  left  him,  not 
knowing  what  to  think  of  his  obstinate  silence.  Whatever 
education  she  might  have  had  from  the  doctor,  it  was  many 
a  day  before  she  understood  the  character  of  his  son,  of  whom 
this,  in  a  few  words,  is  the  history. 

At  his  father's  death,  Jacques,  now  thirty-seven  years  old, 
was  as  timid  and  as  submissive  to  parental  discipline  as  any 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


139 


boy  of  twelve.  This  timidity  will  account  for  his  childhood, 
youth,  and  life  to  such  readers  as  might  not  otherwise  believe 
in  such  a  character,  or  the  facts  of  a  story  which  is  common, 
alas !  in  every  rank  of  life — even  among  princes,  for  Sophie 
Dawes  was  taken  up  by  the  last  of  the  Condes  in  a  worse  posi- 
tion than  that  of  la  Rabouilleuse.  There  are  two  kinds  of 
timidity — timidity  of  mind,  and  timidity  of  the  nerves; 
physical  timidity,  and  moral  timidity.  Each  is  independent 
of  the  other.  The  body  may  be  frightened  and  quake  while 
the  mind  remains  calm  and  bold,  and  vice  versa.  This  is  the 
key  to  many  eccentricities  of  conduct.  When  both  kinds 
meet  in  the  same  man  he  will  be  good  for  nothing  all  his  life. 
This  utter  timidity  is  that  of  the  person  of  whom  we  say, 
"He  is  imbecile."  Still,  this  imbecility  sometimes  covers 
great  qualities  though  suppressed.  To  this  double  infirmity 
perhaps  do  we  owe  certain  monks  who  have  lived  in  ecstasy. 
This  unhappy  moral  and  physical  disposition  may  be  pro- 
duced by  the  perfection  of  the  bodily  organs  and  of  the  soul, 
as  well  as  by  certain  defects,  as  yet  not  fully  studied. 

Jean-Jacques'  timidity  arose  from  a  certain  torpor  of  his 
faculties,  which  a  first-rate  tutor,  or  a  surgeon  like  Desplein, 
would  have  roused.  In  him,  as  in  cretins,  the  sensual  side 
of  love  had  absorbed  the  strength  and  energy  which  his  in- 
telligence lacked,  though  he  had  sense  enough  to  conduct  him- 
self through  life.  The  violence  of  his  passion,  stripped  of  the 
ideal,  in  which  it  blossoms  in  other  young  men,  added  to  his 
timidity.  He  never  could  make  up  his  mind  to  go  courting, 
to  use  a  familiar  expression,  to  any  woman  in  Issoudun.  Now 
no  young  girl  or  woman  could  make  advances  to  an  under- 
sized man,  with  a  vulgar  face,  which  two  prominent  green- 
gooseberry  eyes  would  have  made  ugly  enough,  if  pinched 
features  and  a  sallow  complexion  had  not  made  him  look  old 
before  his  time.  In  fact,  the  vicinity  of  a  woman  annihilated 
the  poor  boy,  who  was  goaded  by  his  passion  as  vehemently 
as  he  was  bridled  by  the  few  notions  he  had  derived  from  his 
education.  Halting  between  two  equal  forces,  he  did  not 
know  what  to  say,  and  dreaded  to  be  asked  a  question,  so 


140 


A  BACHELOK'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


terrified  v^as  he  at  having  to  reply.  Desire,  which  generally 
loosens  a  man's  tongue,  froze  his. 

So  Jean- Jacques  lived  solitary  and  sought  solitude,  not 
finding  it  irksome.  The  doctor  saw,  too  late  to  remedy  them, 
the  disastrous  results  of  this  temperament  and  character.  He 
would  gladly  have  seen  his  son  married;  but  as  that  would 
have  been  to  subject  him  to  a  rule  which  would  soon  be 
despotic,  he  could  not  but  hesitate.  Would  not  that  be  to 
hand  over  his  fortune  to  the  management  of  a  stranger,  an 
unknown  woman  ?  Now  "he  well  knew  how  difficult  it  is  to 
foresee,  from  a  study  of  a  young  girl,  exactly  what  the  woman's 
character  may  become.  And  so,  while  looking  about  him  for 
a  daughter-in-law  whose  education  or  whose  ideas  should 
be  a  sufficient  guarantee,  he  tried  to  guide  his  son  into  the 
paths  of  avarice.  Failing  intelligence,  he  hoped  thus  to  give 
this  simpleton  a  guiding  instinct.  He  began  by  accustoming 
him  to  a  mechanical  existence,  and  gave  him  fixed  notions 
as  to  the  investment  of  money ;  then  he  spared  him  the  chie;i' 
difficulties  of  the  management  of  landed  estate  by  leaving 
all  his  lands  in  capital  order,  and  let  on  long  leases.  And 
for  all  that,  the  principal  fact,  which  was  to  be  paramoum 
in  this  poor  creature's  life,  escaped  the  doctor's  penetration — • 
Jean- Jacques  was  passionately  in  love  with  la  Rabouilleuse. 

Nothing  could,  indeed,  be  more  natural.  Flore  was  the 
only  v/oman  with  whom  the  young  man  came  in  contact,  the 
only  woman  he  ever  saw  at  his  ease,  gazing  on  her  in  secret, 
and  watching  her  from  hour  to  hour;  for  him  Flore  was  the 
light  of  his  father's  house;  without  knowing  it,  she  afforded 
him  the  only  pleasures  that  gilded  his  youth.  Far  from  being 
jealous  of  his  father,  he  was  delighted  by  the  education  he 
bestowed  on  Flore;  was  not  the  wife  he  needed  an  approach- 
able woman  who  would  need  no  courting  ?  For  passion,  be  it 
observed,  brings  insight  with  it;  it  can  give  a  sort  of  intelli- 
gence to  simpletons,  fools,  and  idiots,  especially  during  youth. 
In  the  least  human  soul  we  always  find  the  animal  instinct 
which,  in  its  persistency,  is  like  a  thought. 

Next  day,  Flore,  who  had  meditated  on  her  master's  silence, 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


expected  some  important  communication;  but,  though  he 
hovered  about  her,  looking  at  her  with  covert,  amorous  glances, 
Jean-Jacques  found  nothing  to  say.  At  last,  at  dessert,  the 
master  began  again  as  he  had  begun  yesterday. 

"You  are  comfortable  here  ?"  he  asked  Flore. 

"Yes,  Monsieur  Jean." 

"Well,  stay  then." 

"Thank  you.  Monsieur  Jean." 

This  strange  state  of  things  lasted  for  three  weeks.  One 
night,  when  not  a  sound  broke  the  stillness,  Flore,  waking 
by  chance,  heard  the  regular  breathing  of  a  man  at  her  door, 
and  was  frightened  at  finding  J  can- J  acques  lying  on  the  mat 
like  a  dog,  having,  no  doubt,  made  some  little  hole  at  the 
bottom  of  the  door  to  see  into  the  room. 

"He  is  in  love  with  me,"  thought  she ;  "but  he  will  get  the 
rheumatism  at  this  game." 

Next  day  Flore  looked  at  her  master  in  a  marked  way.  This 
speechless  and  almost  instinctive  love  had  touched  her;  she 
no  longer  thought  the  poor  simple  creature  so  hideous,  in 
^pite  of  the  ulcer-like  spots  on  his  temples  and  forehead,  the 
terrible  coronal  of  vitiated  blood. 

"You  do  not  want  to  go  back  to  the  open  fields,  I  suppose  ?" 
said  Jean- Jacques,  when  they  wt,re  alone. 

"Why  do  you  ask  ?"  said  she,  looking  at  him. 

"I  wanted  to  know  "  replied  Rouget,  turning  the  color 

of  a  boiled  lobster. 

"Do  you  want  me  to  go  ?"  she  asked. 

"ISTo,  mademoiselle." 

"Well,  then,  what  is  it  you  want  to  know  ?  You  have  some 
reason  " 

"Yes,  I  wanted  to  know  

"What?"  said  Flore. 

"You  would  not  tell  me." 

"Yes,  on  my  word  as  an  honest  woman." 

"Ah!  That  is  the  point,"  said  Rouget  alarmed.  *^ou 
are  an  honest  woman  ?" 

"By  Heaven!" 


142 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


"Yes^really?" 
"Since  I  say  it  !" 

"Come,  now.  Are  you  the  same  now  as  you  were  when  you 
stood  there,  barefoot,  brought  here  by  your  uncle 

"A  pretty  question,  on  my  word!'^  exclaimed  Flore,  red- 
dening. 

The  heir  bent  his  head  in  silence,  and  did  not  look  up  again. 
Flore,  astounded  at  finding  her  reply,  so  flattering  to  the 
man,  received  with  such  consternation,  left  the  room. 

Three  days  later,  at  the  same  hour,  for  they  both  seemed 
to  regard  the  dessert  as  the  scene  of  battle,  Flore  was  the 
first  to  say  to  her  master,  "Are  you  vexed  with  me  for  any- 
thing?" 

"No,  mademoiselle,"  he  replied.  "No  ...  on  the 
contrary  " 

"You  seemed  so  much  annoyed  the  other  day  at  hearing  that 
I  was  an  honest  girl  " 

"No;  I  only  wanted  to  know  .  .  .  but  you  would  not 
tell  me." 

"On  my  honor,"  said  she,  "I  will  tell  you  the  whole  truth.'* 
"The  whole  truth  about    ...    my  father  "  said 

he  in  a  choked  voice. 

"Your  father,"  said  she,  looking  straight  into  her  master^s 

eyes,  "was  a  good  fellow;  he  loved  a  laugh.    .    .    .  Well, 

a  little.    .    .    .    Poor  dear  man,  it  was  not  for  want  of  will. 

And  then  he  had  some  grievance  against  you,  I  don't  know 

what,  and  he  had  intentions — oh!  unfortunate  intentions. 

— He  often  made  me  laugh ;  well !  that  is  all.    And  what 

then?" 

"Well,  then,  Flore,"  said  the  heir,  taking  the  girl's  hand, 
"since  my  father  was  nothing  to  you  " 

"Why,  what  did  you  suppose  he  was  to  me?"  she  ex° 
claimed,  in  the  tone  of  a  girl  offended  by  an  insulting  sug- 
gestion. 

"Well,  then,  listen  to  me." 

"He  was  my  benefactor,  that  was  all.  Ah !  he  would  hare 
liked  to  make  me  his  wife    .    .    .    but  " 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT  148 

"But/'  said  Kouget,  taking  her  hand  again,  for  she  hud 
pulled  it  away,  "since  he  was  nothing  of  the  .kind,  you  can 
stay  here  with  me?" 

"If  you  like/'  said  she,  looking  down. 

"No,  no.  It  is  if  you  like,  you/'  replied  Kouget.  "Yes, 
you  may  be — mistress  here.  All  that  is  here  shall  be  yours ; 
you  shall  take  care  of  my  fortune ;  it  will  be  the  same  as  your 
own.  For  I  love  you,  and  I  always  have  loved  you,  from  the 
moment  when  you  first  came  in — here — there — barefoot.'' 

Flore  made  no  reply.  The  silence  became  awkward,  and 
Jean- Jacques  then  uttered  this  odious  argument: 

"Come,  it  would  be  better  than  going  back  to  the  fields^ 
wouldn't  it  ?"  he  asked,  with  manifest  eagerness. 

"Dame !  Monsieur  Jean,  as  you  please,"  said  she. 

But  notwithstanding  this  "as  you  please,"  poor  Rouget  was 
no  forwarder.  Men  of  that  type  must  have  a  certainty.  The 
effort  it  is  to  them  to  confess  their  love  is  so  great,  and  costs 
them  so  dear,  that  they  know  they  can  never  do  it  again. 
Hence  their  attacliment  to  the  first  woman  who  accepts  them. 

Events  can  only  be  inferred  from  the  results.  Ten  months 
after  his  father's  death,  Jean- Jacques  was  another  man;  his 
pallid,  leaden-hued  face,  disfigured  by  little  boils  on  the 
temples  and  forehead,  had  lighted  up,  grown  clear-skinned, 
and  acquired  a  rosy  tinge.  His  countenance  shone  with  hap- 
piness. Flore  insisted  on  her  master's  taking  the  greatest 
care  of  his  person,  and  made  it  a  point  of  honor  to  herself 
that  he  should  be  neatly  dressed ;  she  would  look  after  him  as 
he  went  out  for  a  walk,  standing  on  the  doorstep  till  he  was 
out  of  sight.  All  the  town  observed  this  alteration,  which 
had  made  a  new  creature  of  Jean-Jacques  Eouget. 

"Have  you  heard  the  news?"  asked  one  and  another  in 
Issoudun. 
,  "Why— what?" 

"Jean  has  inherited  everything  from  his  father,  even  la 
Eabouilleuse  " 

"Did  you  suppose  that  the  old  doctor  was  not  sharp  enough 
to  leave  his  son  a  housek^^eDer  ?" 


141  A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 

"She  is  a  perfect  treasure  for  Rouget,  that  is  certain/^  was 
the  general  cr;jr. 

"She  is  a  crafty  one!  She  is  very  handsome;  she  will 
make  him  marry  her." 

"What  luck  that  girl  has  had  r 

"It  is  the  luck  that  only  comes  to  handsome  girls." 

"Pooh,  nonsense !  So  you  fancy.  But  there  was  my  uncle, 
Borniche-Herau ;  well,  you  hav»e  heard  speak  of  Mademoiselle 
Ganivet;  she  was  as  ugly  as  the  seven  deadly  sins,  and  he  left 
her  no  less  than  a  thousand  crowns  a  year  

"Bah!  that  was  in  1778!'' 

"All  the  same,  Rouget  is  a  fool ;  his  father  left  him  at  least 
forty  thousand  francs  a  year.  He  might  have  married  Made- 
moiselle Herau.'' 

"The  doctor  tried  that  on,  but  she  would  have  nothing  to 
say  to  it ;  Rouget  is  too  great  an  idiot  " 

"An  idiot !    Women  are  very  happy  with  men  of  that  sort." 

"Is  your  wife  happy 

Such  were  the  comments  current  in  Issoudun.  Though, 
after  the  manners  and  customs  of  the  provinces,  the  world 
began  by  laughing  at  this  quasi-marriage,  it  ended  by  ad- 
miring Flore  for  devoting  herself  to  this  poor  creature.  This 
was  how  Flore  Brazier  rose  to  sovereignty  over  the  house  of 
Rouget,  "from  father  to  son/'  to  quote  the  words  of  Goddet 
junior.  It  will  now  not  be  useless  to  sketch  the  history  of  her 
rule  for  the  better  information  of  other  bachelors. 

The  only  person  in  Issoudun  to  complain  of  Flore  Brazier's 
installation  as  queen  on  Jean- Jacques  Rouget^s  hearth  was 
old  Fanchette;  she  protested  against  such  an  immoral  state 
of  affairs,  and  took  the  part  of  outraged  decency.  To  be  sure, 
she  felt  humiliated  at  her  age  at  having  for  her  mistress  a 
Rabouilleuse,  a  girl  who  had  come  to  the  house  without  a 
shoe  to  her  foot.  Fanchette  had  three  hundred  francs  a  year 
from  securities  in  the  funds,  for  the  doctor  had  made  her 
invest  her  savings,  and  her  late  master  had  left  her  an 
annuity  of  a  hundred  crowns,  so  she  could  live  comfortably; 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENl? 


145 


and  she  left  the  house  nine  niontlis  after  her  old  master's 
funeral,  on  the  15th  of  April  180G.  To  the  perspicacious 
reader,  this  will  seem  to  mark  the  date  when  Flore  ceased  to 
be  "an  honest  girl." 

La  Rabouilleuse,  keen  enough  to  foresee  Fanchette's  de- 
fection— for  there  is  nothing  like  exercise  of  power  to  in- 
culcate politics — had  made  up  her  mind  to  do  without  a 
maid.  For  the  last  six  month  she  had,  without  betraying  it, 
been  studying  the  culinary  arts  which  made  Fanchette  a 
cordon  bleu  v/orthy  to  cater  for  a  doctor.  As  epicures,  doctors 
may  rank  with  bishops.  Doctor  Eouget  had  perfected  Fan- 
chette. In  the  country  the  lack  of  occupation,  and  the 
monotony  of  life,  are  apt  to  turn  an  active  mind  to  cooking. 
Dinners  are  not  so  luxurious  as  in  Paris,  but  they  are  better ; 
\;he  dishes  are  studied  and  thought  out.  Buried  in  the  coun- 
try, there  are  Caremes  in  petticoats,  undiscovered  geniuses, 
who  know  how  to  turn  out  a  simple  dish  of  beans  worthy  of 
■\he  approving  nod  with  which  Eossini  welcomes  a  perfectly 
i.uccessful  effort. 

The  doctor,  while  studying  for  his  degree  at  Paris,  had 
followed  Rouelle^s  course  of  chemistry,  and  had  picked  up 
luome  notions,  which  he  turned  to  account  in  culinary  chem- 
istry. He  is  remembered  at  Issoudun  for  various  improve- 
ments little  known  beyond  the  limits  of  le  Berry.  He  dis- 
covered that  an  omelette  is  far  more  delicate  when  the  white 
and  yolk  of  the  eggs  are  not  beaten  together  in  the  rough-and- 
ready  fashion  in  which  most  cooks  perform  the  operation. 
By  his  recipe,  the  white  should  be  beaten  to  a  stiff  froth,  and 
the  yolk  added  by  degrees.  Then  it  should  not  be  cooked  in 
a  frying-pan,  but  in  a  cagnard  of  china  or  earthenware.  A 
cagnard  is  a  sort  of  thick  dish  on  four  feet,  which,  when  it  is 
placed  on  the  charcoal  stove,  allow  the  air  to  surround  it,  and 
prevent  its  cracking.  In  Touraine,  the  cagnard  is  called  a 
cauquemarre.  Rabelais,  I  think,  speaks  of  a  cauquemarre  for 
cooking  the  coquecigrues,  which  shows  the  high  antiquity  of 
the  utensil.    The  doctor  had  also  discovered  a  way  of  pre- 


146 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


venting  the  barnt  flavor  of  brown  sauce,  but  this  secret,  which 
he  unfortunately  kept  in  his  own  kitchen,  has  been  lost. 

Flore,  born  with  the  gift  of  frying  and  roasting,  the  two 
arts  which  neither  study  nor  experience  can  acquire,  was  soon 
Fanchette's  superior.  In  making  herself  a  cordon  bleu,  she 
was  thinking  of  Jean- J acques'  comfort ;  still,  she  too,  it  must 
be  owned,  was  not  a  little  greedy.  Like  all  uneducated  per- 
sons, being  unable  to  occupy  her  brain,  she  expended  her 
energies  in  the  house.  She  rubbed  up  the  furniture,  restored 
its  lustre,  and  kept  everything  throughout  the  house  in  a  state 
of  cleanliness  worthy  of  Holland.  She  directed  the  ava- 
lanches of  dirty  linen,  and  the  deluge  known  as  a  great  wash, 
which,  in  the  French  provinces,  takes  place  but  three  times 
a  year.  She  examined  the  linen  with  a  housewifely  eye,  and 
mended  it  with  care.  Then,  anxious  to  initiate  herself  by 
degrees  into  the  secrets  of  wealth,  she  mastered  the  small 
knowledge  of  business  possessed  by  Rouget,  and  increased  it 
by  talking  with  Monsieur  Heron,  the  late  doctor's  notary. 
Thus  she  could  give  her  little  Jean-Jacques  excellent  advice. 
Sure,  as  she  was,  of  remaining  mistress  of  the  position,  she 
nursed  the  poor  fellow's  interests  with  as  much  care  and  parsi- 
mony as  if  they  had  been  her  own.  She  had  nothing  to  fear 
from  her  uncle's  demands.  Two  months  after  the  doctor's 
death.  Brazier  died  of  a  fall  as  he  came  out  of  the  tavern 
where,  since  fortune  had  visited  him,  he  passed  all  his  time. 
Flore's  father  was  also  dead ;  thus  she  served  her  master  with 
all  the  affection  due  from  an  orphan  who  was  happy  to  be  able 
to  make  herself  a  home  and  find  some  interest  in  life. 

This  period  was  paradise  to  poor  Jean-Jacques,  who  ac- 
quired the  easy  habits  of  an  animal  existence,  graced  by  a 
sort  of  monastic  regularity.  He  slept  very  late  in  the  morn- 
ing; Flore,  who  was  up  at  daybreak  to  buy  provisions  or  do 
the  work  of  the  house,  woke  her  master  in  time  for  him  to 
find  breakfast  ready  as  soon  as  he  was  dressed.  After  break- 
fast, at  about  eleven  o'clock,  J  can- J  acques  took  a  walk,  chatted 
with  any  one  he  met,  came  home  by  three  o'clock  to  read  the 
papers — that  of  the  department^  and  a  Paris  paper,  which  hQ 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


147 


received  three  days  after  publication,  greasy  from  thirty  hands 
through  which  they  had  passed,  dirty  from  the  snuffy  noses 
that  smeared  them,  brown  from  the  many  tables  they  had 
lain  on.  Thus  our  bachelor  got  to  the  dinner-hour,  and  he 
spent  as  long  a  time  as  he  could  over  it.  Flore  told  him 
stories  of  the  town,  and  all  the  current  gossip  she  had  picked 
up.  By  eight  o'clock  the  lights  were  out.  Early  to  bed  is, 
in  the  country,  a  common  form  of  saving  in  candles  and  firing, 
but  it  tends  to  stupefy  folks  by  an  abuse  of  bed;  too  much 
sleep  deadens  and  stultifies  the  mind. 

Such,  for  nine  years,  was  the  life  of  these  two  beings — a 
life  at  once  busy  and  vacuous,  of  which  the  chief  events  were 
a  few  journeys  to  Bourges,  to  Vierzon,  to  Chateauroux,  or  even 
a  little  further,  when  neither  Monsieur  Heron  nor  the  notaries 
of  those  towns  had  any  mortgages  to  offer.  Kouget  invested 
his  money  in  first  mortgages  at  five  per  cent,  with  substitu- 
tion in  favor  of  the  wife  when  the  lender  should  marry.  He 
never  advanced  more  than  a  third  of  the  real  value  of  the 
estate,  and  he  had  bills  drawn  to  his  order  representing  an 
additional  two  and  a  half  per  cent,  for  dates  at  intervals  dur- 
ing the  loan.  These  were  the  rules  impressed  on  him  by  his 
father.  Usury,  the  drag  on  peasant  ambitions,  is  eating  up 
the  land,  and  this  charge  of  seven  and  a  half  per  cent  seemed 
so  reasonable,  that  Jean- Jacques  Eouget  could  pick  and 
choose ;  for  the  notaries,  who  extracted  handsome  commissions 
from  the  clients  for  whom  they  got  money  so  cheap,  would 
give  the  old  fellow  notice. 

During  these  nine  years,  Flore  gradually,  insensibly,  and 
without  intending  it,  had  acquired  absolute  dominion  over  her 
master.  From  the  first  she  treated  Jean-Jacques  with  great 
familiarity;  then,  without  failing  in  respect,  she  gained  the 
upper  hand  by  such  manifest  superiority  of  intelligence  and 
power,  that  he  became  his  servant's  servant.  This  grown- 
up child  went  half-way  to  meet  this  dominion,  by  allowing 
himself  to  be  so  much  waited  on,  that  Flore  treated  him  as 
a  mother  treats  her  son.  And  at  last  his  feeling  for  her  was 
that  which  makes  a  mother's  care  necessary  to  a  child.  But 


148 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


there  were  other  and  far  stronger  bonds.  In  the  first  placej 
Flore  managed  all  business  matters,  and  carried  on  the  house. 
Jean- Jacques  relied  on  her  so  absolutely  for  every  kind  of 
stewardship  that;,  without  her,  life  would  have  seemed  to  him 
not  difficult,  but  impossible.  The  woman  had  also  become 
necessary  to  his  existence;  she  humored  all  his  fancies — she 
knew  them  so  well !  He  liked  to  see  the  happy  face  that 
always  smiled  on  him;  the  only  face  that  ever  had  smiled  on 
him,  or  that  ever  would  smile  on  him !  Her  happiness,  purely 
material,  expressed  by  the  common  phrases  that  are  the  back- 
bone of  language  in  the  households  of  le  Berry,  and  expansive 
in  her  splendid  person,  was,  in  a  way,  the  reflection  of  his 
own.  The  state  into  which  Jean-Jacques  collapsed  when  he 
saw  Flore  clouded  by  some  little  annoyance  betrayed  to  the 
woman  the  extent  of  her  power;  and  she,  to  secure  it,  would 
try  to  exert  it.  In  women  of  that  kind  use  always  means 
abuse.  La  Eabouilleuse,  no  doubt,  made  her  master  play  his 
part  in  some  of  the  scenes  that  lie  buried  in  the  mystery  of 
private  life,  and  of  which  Otway  has  shown  a  specimen  in 
the  midst  of  his  tragedy  of  Venice  Preserved  between  tho 
Senator  and  Aquilina — a  scene  that  gives  the  magnificence 
of  horror.  And  then  Flore  saw  herself  so  secure  in  her  em- 
pire, that  she  never  thought  of  getting  the  old  bachelor  to 
marry  her,  unfortunately  for  him  and  for  herself. 

By  the  end  of  1815,  at  the  age  of  twenty-seven,  Flore  was 
in  the  fullest  bloom  of  her  beauty.  Buxom  and  fair,  as  white- 
skinned  as  a  farmeress  of  le  Bessin,  she  was  the  ideal  of  what 
our  forefathers  would  have  called  a  splendid  wench.  Her 
beauty,  somewhat  of  the  inn-servant  order,  but  filled-out  and 
well-fed,  gave  her  some  resemblance,  apart  from  Mademoiselle 
Georges'  imperial  beauty,  to  that  actress  at  her  best.  Flore 
had  the  same  beautiful,  dazzling  white  arms,  the  fulness  of 
outline,  the  pulpy  sheen,  the  delicious  modeling,  but  all  less 
classically  severe.  The  expression  of  her  face  was  tender 
and  sweet.  Her  eye  could  not  command  respect,  like  that 
of  the  most  beautiful  Agrippine  who  has  ever  trod  the  boards 


A  BACHELOirS  ESTABLISHMENT 


149 


of  the  Theatre  Frangais  since  Ilacine's  time;  it  invited  to 
sensual  joys. 

In  1816  la  Rabouilleuse  first  saw  Maxence  Gilet,  and  fell 
in  love  with  him  at  first  sight.  Her  heart  was  pierced  by  the 
mythological  dart — that  admirable  symbol  of  a  natural  fact 
which  the  Greeks  inevitably  represented  thus,  having  never 
conceived  of  the  chivalrous  ideal  and  melancholy  passion 
begotten  of  Christianity.  Flore  was  at  this  time  too  hand- 
some for  Max  to  scorn  such  a  conquest.  And  thus,  at  eight- 
and-twenty,  the  girl  first  knew  real  love,  idolatrous,  infinite 
love,  the  love  which  includes  every  mode  of  loving  from  that 
of  Gulnare  to  that  of  Medora.  As  soon  as  the  penniless 
ofiicer  understood  the  respective  positions  of  Flore  and  Jean- 
Jacques  Eouget,  he  saw  something  better  than  a  mere  love 
affair  in  a  connection  with  la  Eabouiileuse.  And  so,  for  the 
better  security  of  his  future  prospects,  he  was  more  than  con- 
tent to  lodge  under  Rouget's  roof,  seeing  how  weakly  a 
creature  the  old  fellow  was. 

Flore's  passion  could  not  fail  to  have  its  influence  on  Jean- 
Jacques'  life  and  surroundings.  For  a  month  Eouget,  who 
had  become  excessively  afraid  of  her,  saw  Flore's  smiling  and 
friendly  face  grown  gloomy  and  cross.  He  endured  the  brunt 
of  intentional  ill-temper  exactly  like  a  married  man  whose 
wife  is  contemplating  a  betrayal.  When  in  the  midst  of  her 
most  spiteful  outbreaks  the  hapless  man  made  so  bold  as  to 
ask  the  cause  of  this  change,  her  eyes  flashed  with  fires  of 
hatred,  and  her  voice  was  hard  with  aggressive  tones  of  scorn, 
such  as  poor  Jean-Jacques  had  never  met  nor  heard. 

"By  Heaven !"  she  exclaimed,  "you  have  neither  heart  nor 
soul.  For  sixteen  years  have  I  been  wasting  my  youth  here, 
and  I  never  discovered  that  you  had  a  stone  there !"  and  she 
struck  her  heart.  "For  two  months  past  you  have  seen  that 
brave  Major  coming  here,  a  victim  to  the  Bourbons,  who  was 
cut  out  for  a  General,  and  who  is  down  on  his  luck,  driven 
into  a  hole  of  a  place  like  this,  where  Fortune  is  too  poor  to 
go  out  walking.  He  is  obliged  to  sit,  stuck  to  a  chair  all  day 
in  an  office,  to  earn  what?    Six  hundred  wretched  francs — 


150 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


a  handsome  income!  And  you,  who  have  six  hundred  and 
fifty-nine  thousand  francs  in  snug  investments,  and  sixty 
thousand  francs  a  year — not  to  say  that,  thanks  to  me,  you 
don't  spend  a  thousand  crowns  a  year  for  everything  in- 
cluded, even  my  clothes — in  short,  everything — ^you  never 
think  of  offering  him  shelter  here,  where  the  whole  top  floor 
is  empty !  No,  you  would  let  the  rats  and  mice  keep  up  a 
dance  there  rather  than  put  a  human  being  in,  and  he  a  man 
your  father  always  regarded  as  his  son! — Do  you  want  to 
know  what  you  are  ?  Well,  I  will  tell  you — you  are  a  fratri- 
cide !  And  you  think  I  don't  know  why  ?  You  saw  that  I 
felt  an  interest  in  him,  and  that  nettled  you !  For  all  that 
you  seem  such  a  blockhead,  you  have  more  cunning  in  you 
than  the  cunningest,  and  that  is  what  you  are.  .  .  .  Very 
well  then,  I  do  take  an  interest  in  him  ...  a  warm  one 
at  that  .  .  r 
"But,  Flore    .  . 

"Oh,  there  is  no  ^but,  Flore,'  in  the  case.  You  may  go 
and  look  for  another  Flore — if  you  can  find  one! — For  may 
this  glass  of  wine  poison  me  if  I  don't  turn  out  of  your  hovel 
of  a  house!  I  shall  have  cost  you  nothing,  thank  God,  dur- 
ing the  twelve  years  I  have  stayed  in  it,  and  you  have  had 
your  comforts  cheap !  Anywhere  else  I  could  have  earned 
my  living  by  working  as  I  do  here ;  washing,  ironing,  taking 
care  of  the  linen,  going  to  market,  cooking,  looking  after  your 
interests  in  every  way,  slaving  to  death  from  morning  till 
night. — And  this  is  what  I  get !" 

"But,  Flore    .  . 

"Oh  yes,  Flore  indeed!  A  pretty  Flore  you  will  get,  at 
fifty-one,  as  you  are,  and  in  very  bad  health,  and  stooping  so 
that  it  is  frightful  to  see — I  know  all  about  it.  And  with  all 
that  you  are  not  so  very  amusing    .  . 

"But,  Flore    .  . 

"There,  leave  me  in  peace." 

And  she  left  the  room,  slamming  the  door  with  such 
violence  that  the  house  rang  with  it  and  seemed  to  shake  on 
its  foundations.    Jean- Jacques  Rouget  opened  it  very  gently, 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


151 


and  more  gently  still  went  into  the  kitchen  where  Flore  was 
muttering. 

"But,  Flore,"  said  this  sliecp,  "this  is  the  very  first  I  have 
heard  of  your  wishes;  how  can  you  tell  whether  I  will  or  will 
not?" 

"In  the  first  place/'  she  went  on,  "we  ought  to  have  a  man 
in  the  house.  It  is  known  that  you  have  ten,  fifteen,  twenty 
thousand  francs,  and  if  any  one  wanted  to  rob  you  we  should 
be  murdered.  For  my  part,  I  have  no  wish  to  wake  up  one 
fine  morning  cut  into  four  quarters,  like  the  poor  servant  girl 
who  Avas  fool  enough  to  try  to  defend  her  master.  Well ! 
But  if  it  were  known  that  we  had  a  man  on  the  premises  who 
is  as  brave  as  Csesar,  and  has  the  use  of  his  hands — Max 
could  settle  three  thieves  while  you  were  talking  about  it. — 
Well,  I  say,  I  should  sleep  easier.  People  will  cram  you  with 
nonsense.  Here,  I  am  in  love  with  him ;  there,  I  adore  him  ! 
Do  you  know  what  you  have  got  to  say  ?  Well,  just  tell  them 
that  you  know  all  that,  but  your  father  told  you  on  his  death- 
bed to  take  care  of  his  poor  Max.  Then  every  one  must  hold 
their  tongue,  for  the  flagstones  of  Issoudun  could  tell  you  that 
your  father  paid  for  his  schooling — so  there !  For  nine  years 
I  have  eaten  your  bread    .    .  ." 

"Flore,  Flore    .    .  ." 

"And  more  than  one  young  fellow  in  this  town  has  come 
to  me  a-courtin' — so  there ! — And  one  offers  me  a  gold  chain, 
and  another  a  gold  watch:  '^Dear  little  Flore,  if  you  only 
would  come  away  from  that  old  idiot  of  a  Eouget,'  that  is  the 
sort  of  thing  they  say  of  you !  'What,  I !  leave  him  ? — I 
should  think  so  !  such  an  innocent  as  that. — Wh}^,  what  would 
become  of  him?'  I  have  always  answered.  'No,  no,  where 
a  Nanny  is  tethered,  she  must  eat    .    .    .' " 

"Yes,  Flore,  I  have  no  one  in  the  world  but  you,  and  I  am 
only  too  happy.  If  it  will  give  you  pleasure,  child,  we  will 
have  Maxence  Gilct  in  the  house ;  he  can  eat  with  us    .  . 

"By  Heaven !  I  should  hope  so !" 

"There,  there,  don't  be  angry    .  . 

"Enough  for  one  is  enough  for  two,"  said  she,  laughing. 


152  A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


"But  now,  if  you  are  nice,  do  you  know  what  you  will 
do,  my  dear  old  boy?  You  will  take  a  turn  in  front  of  the 
Mairie  at  about  four  o'clock,  and  manage  to  meet  Major  Gilet. 
and  ask  him  to  dinner.  If  he  makes  any  difficulties,  tell  him 
it  is  to  please  me ;  he  is  too  polite  to  refuse  that.  And  then, 
over  your  dessert,  if  he  talks  of  his  misfortunes,  or  of  the 
hulks — and  you  can  surely  have  sense  enough  to  lead  up  to 
the  subject — you  will  offer  him  a  home  here.  If  he  makes 
any  objection,  never  mind;  I  will  find  a  way  to  persuade 
him  " 

As  he  slowly  paced  the  Boulevard  Baron,  Rouget,  so  far  as 
he  was  capable,  thought  over  this  incident.  If  he  were  to  part 
with  Flore — and  the  mere  idea  made  him  dizzy — what  woman 
could  he  find  to  take  her  place?  Marry?  At  his  age  he 
would  be  married  for  his  money,  and  even  more  cruelly 
handled  by  a  legitimate  wife  than  he  was  by  Flore.  Moreover, 
the  notion  of  being  bereft  of  her  affection,  even  if  it  were  a 
delusion,  was  intolerably  painful.  So  he  was  as  charming  to 
Major  Gilet  as  he  knew  how  to  be.  As  Flore  had  wished,  the 
invitation  was  given  in  the  presence  of  witnesses,  so  as  to 
leave  Max's  honor  clear. 

Flore  and  her  master  were  reconciled;  but  from  that  day 
Jean- Jacques  was  aware  of  shades  of  demeanor  proving  a 
complete  change  in  la  Rabouilleuse's  affection  for  him. 

For  about  a  fortnight  Flore  complained  loudly  to  the  trades- 
people, at  market,  and  to  her  gossips,  of  Monsieur  Eouget's 
tyranny  in  taking  it  into  his  head  to  have  his  natural  half- 
brother  under  his  roof.  But  no  one  was  taken  in  by  this  farce, 
and  Flore  was  considered  an  extremely  shrewd  and  wily 
creature. 

Old  Eouget  was  made  very  happy  by  the  installation  of 
Max  as  a  member  of  the  household,  for  in  him  he  had  a  com- 
panion who  was  most  carefully  attentive  to  him  without 
servility.  Gilet  chatted,  talked  politics,  and  sometimes 
walked  out  with  him. 

As  soon  as  the  officer  was  quite  at  home,  Flore  refused  to 
be  cook  any  longer ; "kitchen  work  spoiled  her  hands," she  said 


A  BACHELOirS  ESTABLISHMENT 


155 


By  desire  of  the  Grand  Master  of  the  Order,  hi  Cognotte  found 
a  relation  of  her  own,  an  old  maid,  whose  nriaster,  a  cure,  had 
just  died,  leaving  her  notln'ng,  an  excellent  cook,  who  would 
devote  herself  through  life  and  death  to  Flore  and  Max.  And, 
in  the  name  of  these  two  potentates,  la  Cognette  could  promise 
her  relation  a  pension  of  three  hundred  francs  after  ten  years 
of  good,  honest,  and  loyal  service.  La  Vedie,  who  was  sixty, 
vvas  remarkable  for  a  face  deeply  marked  by  smallpox  and  of 
suitable  ugliness. 

When  she  assumed  her  functions  Flore  became  Mademoiselle 
Brazier.  She  wore  stays,  she  dressed  in  silk,  in  fine 
woolen  stuffs,  or  in  cambric,  according  to  the  season.  She 
had  collars,  costly  kerchiefs,  embroidered  caps  and  lace 
tuckers,  wore  dainty  boots,  and  kept  herself  in  an  elegant  and 
handsome  style  that  made  her  look  younger.  She  was  now 
like  a  rough  diamond  that  has  been  cut  and  set  by  the  jeweler 
to  show  off  its  value.  She  Vv^as  anxious  to  do  Max  credit.  By 
the  end  of  that  year,  1817,  she  had  procured  a  horse  from 
Bourges,  said  to  be  of  English  breed,  for  the  poor  Major,  who 
was  tired  of  going  about  on  foot.  Max  had  picked  up  in  the 
neighborhood  a  man,  a  Pole  named  Kouski,  formerly  a  lancer 
in  the  Imperial  Guard,  and  now  reduced  to  misery,  who  Yias 
only  too  glad  to  find  a  berth  at  Monsieur  Eouget's  as  the 
Major's  servant.  Max  was  Kouski's  idol,  especially  after  the 
fray  with  the  three  Eoyalists.  So  after  1817  the  Rouget 
household  consisted  of  five  persons,  three  of  them  idle;  and 
the  expenses  amounted  to  about  eight  thousand  francs  a 
year. 

By  the  time  when  Madame  Bridau  came  back  to  Issoudun 
to  save  her  inheritance,  as  Maitre  Desroches  expressed  it,  sc 
seriously  endangered,  Pere  Eouget,as  he  v/as  comm.only  called, 
had  by  degrees  lapsed  into  an  almost  vegetative  existence.  To 
begin  with,  from  the  day  when  Max  was  at  home  in  the  house. 
Mademoiselle  Brazier  kept  house  with  quite  Episcopal  luxury. 
Rouget,  thus  led  into  high  living,  and  tempted  by  the  excel- 
lent dishes  concocted  by  la  Vedie,  ate  more  and  more  every 


154  A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


day.  Notwithstanding  such  abundant  and  nutritious  feed' 
ing,  he  did  not  get  fat.  He  grew  every  day  more  bent,  like  a 
man  tired  out — perhaps  by  the  effort  of  digestion — and  his 
eyes  sank  in  puffy  circles.  Still,  v/hen,  in  his  walks,  any  one 
asked  after  his  health:  "I  never  was  better  in  my  life/'  was 
always  his  reply.  As  he  had  always  been  known  to  have  a 
most  limited  intellect,  the  gradual  deterioration  of  his  facul- 
ties was  not  observed.  His  love  for  Flore  was  the  one 
^'motion  that  kept  him  alive ;  he  existed  only  for  her ;  his  weak- 
ness before  her  knew  no  measure;  he  obeyed  her  every  look 
and  watched  this  creature's  movements  as  a  dog  watches  his 
master's  least  gesture.  And,  as  Madame  Hochon  said,  Pere 
Eouget,  at  fifty-seven,  looked  older  than  Monsieur  Hochon, 
who  was  eighty. 

As  may  easily  be  supposed,  Max's  rooms  were  worthy  of  so 
charming  a  youth.  And  in  six  years,  year  by  year,  the  Major 
had  made  the  comfort  of  his  lodgings  more  perfect,  and 
added  grace  to  the  smallest  details,  as  much  for  his  own  sake 
as  for  Flore's.  Still,  it  was  only  the  comfort  of  Issoudun; 
painted  floors,  wall-papers  of  some  elegance,  mahogany  furni- 
ture, mirrors  in  gilt  frames,  muslin  curtains  with  red  bands 
to  loop  them,  an  Arabian  bedstead  with  curtains  hung  as  a 
country  upholsterer  arranges  them  for  a  wealthy  bride,  and 
which  then  seemed  the  height  of  magnificence,  but  which  are 
to  be  seen  in  the  commonest  fashion-plates,  and  are  so  general 
now  that  in  Paris  even  petty  dealers  will  not  have  them  when 
they  marry.  Then — an  unheard-of  thing,  which  gave  rise 
to  much  talk  in  Issoudun — there  was  matting  on  the  stairs, 
to  deaden  noise  no  doubt !  And,  in  fact.  Max,  as  he  came 
in  before  daybreak,  woke  nobody,  and  Eouget  never  suspected 
his  lodger's  share  in  the  dark  deeds  of  the  Knights  of  Idlesse. 

At  about  eight  in  the  morning  Flore,  in  a  pretty  pinJc- 
striped  cotton  wrapper  and  a  lace  cap,  her  feet  in  furred 
slippers,  gently  opened  Max's  bedroom  door,  but  seeing  him 
asleep,  she  stood  a  moment  by  the  bed. 

"He  came  in  so  late,"  thought  she;  "at  half -past  three.  A 
man  must  be  made  of  iron  to  be  able  to  stand  such  racket 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT  155 


as  that !  And  isn't  he  strong  too  ? — The  love  of  a  man !  I 
wonder  what  they  were  doing  last  night !" 

"You,  my  little  Flore/'  said  Max,  waking  as  a  soldier  wakes, 
inured  by  the  vicissitudes  of  war  to  find  all  his  wits  and  his 
presence  of  mind  however  suddenly  he  may  be  roused. 

"You  are  sleepy ;  I  am  going    .  . 

"No,  stay ;  there  are  serious  things  " 

"You  have  done  something  too  mad  last  night?" 

"Ah,  pooh!  The  matter  in  hand  concerns  that  old  fool. 
Look  here;  you  never  mentioned  his  family.  Well,  they  are 
.2oming  here — his  family  is  coming,  to  cut  us  out  no  doubt." 

"Oh,  I  will  give  them  a  startler !"  said  Flore. 

"Mademoiselle  Brazier,"  said  Max  gravely,  "matters  are 
too  serious  to  be  taken  at  a  rush.  Send  me  up  my  coffee; 
I  will  have  it  in  bed,  where  I  will  consider  what  proceedings 
we  must  take.  .  .  .  Come  back  at  nine,  and  we  will  talk 
it  over.    Meanwhile  behave  as  if  you  had  heard  nothing." 

Startled  by  this  news,  Flore  left  Max,  and  went  to  make 
his  coffee;  but  a  quarter  of  an  hour  later  Baruch  rushed  in 
and  said  to  the  Grand  Master,  "Fario  is  looking  for  his  cart." 

Max  was  dressed  in  five  minutes,  went  downstairs,  and  with 
an  air  of  lounging  for  his  pleasure,  made  his  way  to  the  foot 
of  the  tow^er  hill,  where  he  saw  a  considerable  crowd. 

"What  is  the  matter  ?"  said  Max,  making  his  way  through 
the  mob  to  speak  to  the  Spaniard. 

Fario,  a  small,  shriveled  man,  was  ugly  enough  to  have 
been  a  grandee.  His  very  fier}^,  very  small  eyes,  very  close 
together,  would  have  earned  him  at  Naples  a  reputation  for 
the  evil  eye.  The  little  man  seemed  gentle  because  he  was 
grave,  quiet,  and  slow  in  his  movements;  and  he  was  com- 
monly spoken  of  as  honhomme,  good  old  Fario.  But  his  com- 
plexion, of  the  color  of  gingerbread,  and  his  gentle  manner, 
concealed  from  the  ignorant,  but  betrayed  to  the  knowing, 
his  character  as  a  half-Moorish  peasant  from  Granada,  who 
had  not  yet  been  roused  from  his  torpid  indifference. 

"But  are  you  sure,"  said  Max,  after  listening  to  the  lamenta- 
tions of  the  seed-merchant,  "that  you  brought  your  cart?  For, 

thank  Heaven,  we  have  no  thieves  in  Issoudun   .    .  ." 
VOL.  4—37 


156  A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


"I  left  it  there    .  . 

"But  if  the  horse  was  harnessed  to  it,  may  he  not  have  gone 
away  with  the  cart 

"There  is  my  horse,"  said  Fario,  pointing  to  his  steed  stand- 
ing harnessed  about  thirty  yards  off. 

Max  solemnly  went  to  the  spot,  so  as  to  be  able  by  looking 
up  to  see  the  foot  of  the  tower,  for  the  people  had  collected  at 
the  bottom  of  the  hill.  Everybody  followed  him,  and  this 
was  what  the  rascal  wanted. 

"Has  any  one  by  mistake  put  a  cart  in  his  pocket?"  cried 
Frangois. 

"Come,  feel,  turn  them  out !"  said  Baruch.  Shouts  of 
laughter  rose  on  all  sides.  Fario  swore;  now  in  a  Spaniard 
an  oath  means  the  last  pitch  of  fury. 

"Is  yours  a  light  cart  ?"  asked  Max. 

"Light?"  retorted  Fario.  "If  all  those  who  are  laughing 
at  me  had  it  over  their  toes,  their  corns  would  not  hurt  them 
again." 

"Well,  but  it  must  be  devilish  light,"  replied  Max,  pointing 
to  the  tower,  "for  it  has  flown  to  the  top  of  the  hill." 

At  these  words  all  looked  up,  and  for  a  moment  there  was 
almost  a  riot  in  the  market-place.  Every  one  was  pointing 
to  this  magical  vehicle.    Every  tongue  was  wagging. 

"The  Devil  has  a  care  for  the  innkeepers,  who  are  all 
doomed  to  perdition,"  said  Goddet  to  the  speechless  owner; 
"he  wants  to  teach  you  not  to  leave  carts  about  instead  of 
putting  up  at  the  inn." 

At  this  speech  the  mob  howled,  for  Fario  was  reckoned 
miserly. 

"Come,  my  good  man,"  said  Max,  "do  not  lose  heart.  We 
will  go  up  and  see  how  the  cart  got  there.  The  deuce  is  in 
it !  We  will  lend  you  a  hand.  Will  you  come,  Baruch  ? — 
You,"  he  added  in  a  whisper  to  Frangois,  "clear  every  one  out 
of  the  way,  and  mind  there  is  no  one  standing  below  when 
you  see  us  at  the  top." 

Fario,  with  Max,  Baruch,  and  three  more  of  the  Knights, 
climbed  up  to  the  tower.    During  the  scramble,  which  was 


A  BACHELOR'S  PJSTABLISIIMENT 


157 


not  free  from  danger,  Max  remarked  to  Fario  that  there  were 
no  tracks,  nor  anything  to  show  how  the  cart  had  been  got 
up.  And  Fario  began  to  believe  in  some  magic ;  he  had  quite 
lost  his  head.  On  reaching  the  top  and  examining  matters, 
the  feat  seriously  seemed  quite  impossible. 

"And  however  shall  we  get  it  down  again?"  said  the 
Spaniard,  whose  little  eyes  expressed  positive  terror,  while 
his  tawny  hollow  face,  which  looked  as  if  it  could  never 
change  color,  turned  pale. 

"Well,"  said  Max,  "I  see  no  difficulty  in  that." 

And  taking  advantage  of  Fario's  bewilderment,  he  took  the 
cart  up  by  the  shafts,  giving  it  a  tilt  with  his  strong  arms 
so  as  to  give  it  impetus;  then,  at  the  moment  when  he  let  it 
go,  he  shouted  in  a  voice  of  thunder,  "Look  out  below !"  But 
there  was  no  danger.  The  crowd,  warned  by  Frangois,  and 
eager  with  curiosity,  had  withdrawn  to  a  little  distance  to 
see  what  was  going  on  on  the  knoll.  The  cart  smashed  in 
picturesque  style,  broken  into  a  thousand  pieces. 

"There,  it  is  down  again !"  said  Baruch. 

"Ah,  blackguards,  thieves,  villains !"  yelled  Fario.  "It 
was  you  who  got  it  up,  1^11  be  bound !" 

Max,  Baruch,  and  their  three  comrades  began  to  laugh  at 
the  Spaniard's  abuse. 

"We  wanted  to  do  you  a  service,"  said  Max  haughtily.  "To 
save  your  damned  cart  I  ran  the  risk  of  going  down  on  the  top 
of  it,  and  this  is  how  you  thank  me.  What  country  do  you 
come  from,  pray?" 

"From  a  country  where  we  do  not  forgive  an  injury,"  re- 
plied Fario,  quivering  with  rage.  "My  cart  may  serve  you  a 
turn  to  take  you  to  the  Devil !  Unless,"  he  added,  as  mild 
as  a  lamb,  "you  like  to  replace  it  by  a  new  one  ?" 

"We  Avill  talk  about  it,"  said  Max,  going  down  the  hill. 

When  they  were  at  the  bottom,  and  had  rejoined  the  first 
group  of  laughers.  Max  took  Fario  by  the  jacket-button,  and 
isaid : 

'^Yes,  my  good  Fario,  I  will  make  you  a  present  of  a 
splendid  cart  if  you  will  give  me  two  hundred  and  fifty  francs ; 


158 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


I  won't  guarantee  that,  like  this  one,  it  is  warranted  for  a 
tumbler's  trap." 

This  jest,  however,  touched  Fario  no  more  than  if  he  were 
concluding  an  ordinary  bargain. 

"Dame!"  he  replied  calmty,  "you  will  give  me  francs 
enough  to  replace  my  poor  cart,  and  you  will  never  spend 
Pere  Rouget's  money  in  a  better  cause." 

Max  turned  white  and  lifted  his  formidable  fist  to  strike 
Fario;  but  Baruch,  who  knew  that  such  a  blow  would  not 
fall  only  on  the  Spaniard,  whisked  him  off  like  a  feather,  say- 
ing to  Max  in  an  undertone,  "Don't  play  the  fool !" 

The  Major,  recalled  to  order,  began  to  laugh,  and  said  to 
Fario,  "Though  I  have  by  accident  damaged  your  cart,  you 
are  trying  to  slander  me,  so  we  are  quits." 

"Not  yet,"  muttered  Fario.  "But  I  am  glad  to  have  found 
out  what  my  cart  is  worth !" 

"Ah,  ha !  Max,  you  have  found  your  match !"  said  a  by- 
stander, who  was  not  a  member  of  the  Order. 

"Good-bye,  Monsieur  Gilet;  you  have  not  heard  the  last  of 
your  clever  trick!"  said  the  Spaniard,  mounting  his  horse 
and  disappearing  in  the  midst  of  a  loud  hurrah ! 

"I  will  keep  the  iron  tires  for  you,"  cried  a  wheelwright, 
who  had  come  out  to  study  the  effects  of  the  fall.  One  of  the 
shafts  was  standing  upright,  planted  in  the  ground  like  a 
tree. 

Max  was  pale  and  thoughtful,  stung  to  the  heart  by  the 
Spaniard's  speech.  For  five  days  at  Issoudun  Fario's  cart 
was  the  talk  of  the  town.  It  was  fated  to  travel  far,  as 
young  Goddet  said,  for  it  made  the  round  of  the  province, 
where  the  pranks  of  Max  and  Baruch  were  much  discussed. 
Hence,  even  a  week  after  the  event,  the  Spaniard  was  still 
the  talk  of  the  departments  and  the  subject  of  much  "jaw," 
a  fact  to  which  he  was  keenly  alive.  Max  and  la  Rabouilleuse, 
too,  as  a  result  of  the  vindictive  Spaniard's  retort,  were  the 
subject  of  endless  comments,  whispered  indeed  at  Issoudun, 
but  loudly  spoken  at  Bourges,  at  Vatan,  at  Vierzon,  and  at 
Chateauroux.  Maxence  Gilet  knew  the  country  well  enough 
to  imagine  how  envenomed  these  remarks  must  be. 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


159 


"No  one  can  hinder  their  talking/'  thought  he.  "Ah! 
that  was  a  bad  night's  work." 

"Well,  Max/'  said  Frangois,  taking  his  arm,  "they  are  to 
be  here  to-night." 

"Who?" 

"The  Bridans.  My  grandmother  has  just  had  a  letter 
from  her  goddaughter." 

"Listen  to  me,  my  boy/'  said  Max  in  his  ear;  "I  have 
thought  this  business  over  very  seriously.  Neither  Flore  nor  I 
must  appear  to  have  any  ill-feeling  towards  the  Bridaus.  If 
the  heirs  leave  Issoudun,  it  is  your  people,  the  Hochons,  who 
must  seem  to  be  the  cause.  Study  these  Paris  folks  well ;  and 
when  I  have  taken  their  measure,  to-morrow  at  la  Co- 
gnette's  we  will  see  what  can  be  done  with  them,  and  how  we 
can  make  a  breach  between  them  and  your  grandfather." 

"The  Spaniard  has  found  the  joint  in  Max's  harness/'  said 
Baruch  to  his  cousin  Francois  as  they  went  in,  looking  at  his 
friend  entering  Kouget's  door. 

While  Max  was  thus  occupied,  Flore,  notwithstanding  her 
companion's  counsel,  had  been  unable  to  control  her  rage; 
without  knowing  whether  she  was  seconding  or  interfering 
with  Max's  plans,  she  broke  out  against  the  poor  old  bachelor. 
When  J  can- Jacques  incurred  his  nurse's  displeasure,  he  found 
himself  suddenly  bereft  of  all  the  little  cares  and  vulgar 
petting  which  were  the  joy  of  his  life.  In  short,  Flore  put 
her  master  in  disgrace.  No  more  little  affectionate  words 
with  which  she  was  wont  to  grace  her  conversation,  in  various 
tones,  with  more  or  less  tender  glances — my  puss,  my  chicken, 
my  good  old  dog,  my  spoilt  boy.  No  more  familiar  tu.  A 
vous,  short  and  cold,  and  ironically  respectful,  would  pierce 
the  unhappy  man's  heart  like  a  knife.  This  vous  was  a 
declaration  of  war. 

Then,  instead  of  helping  him  to  dress,  giving  him  his 
things,  anticipating  his  wishes,  looking  at  him  with  the  sort 
of  admiration  women  know  how  to  convey — and  the  broader 
it  is,  the  more  gratifying — saying,  "You  are  as  fresh  as  a 


160  A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


rose !  Come,  you  look  wonderfully  well !  How  fine  you  are, 
old  man !" — instead  of  entertaining  him  while  he  dressed  with 
the  fun  and  follies  that  amused  him,  Flore  left  him  to  manage 
for  himself.  If  he  called  her,  she  would  answer  from  the 
bottom  of  the  stairs : 

"Well,  I  can't  do  two  things  at  once — get  your  breakfast 
and  wait  on  you  in  your  room.  Aren't  you  old  enough  to 
dress  yourself 

"Good  God!  How  have  I  offended  her?"  the  old  fellow 
wondered,  on  receiving  one  of  these  rebuffs,  when  he  called 
for  some  hot  water  to  shave  himself. 

"Vedie,  take  up  some  hot  water  to  monsieur,''  cried  Flore. 

"Vedie?"  said  the  poor  man,  bewildered  by  his  dread 
of  the  wrath  impending  over  him.  "Vedie,  what  is  the  mat- 
ter with  madame  this  morning  ?" 

Flore  insisted  on  being  called  madame  by  her  master,  by 
Vedie,  Kouski,  and  Max. 

"She  has  heard  something  seemingly  not  much  to  your 
credit,"  replied  Vedie,  putting  on  a  very  pathetic  air.  "You 
are  very  foolish,  monsieur.  There,  I  am  but  a  poor  servant, 
and  you  may  tell  me  not  to  be  poking  my  nose  into  your  con- 
cerns; but  you  may  hunt  through  all  the  women  in  the  world, 
like  the  King  in  Holy  Writ,  and  you  will  never  find  her  like. 
You  ought  to  kiss  the  place  where  she  has  set  her  foot.  .  . 
I  tell  you,  if  you  vex  her,  it  will  be  enough  to  break  your  own 
heart !   And  there  really  were  tears  in  her  eyes." 

Vedie  left  the  poor  man  quite  annihilated;  he  sank  into 
a  chair,  gazing  into  space  like  a  man  melancholy  mad,  and 
forgot  to  shave  himself.  These  alternations  of  hot  and  cold 
affected  the  poor  feeble  creature,  who  lived  only  through  his 
hold  on  love,  like  the  deadly  chill  produced  by  a  sudden  pas- 
sage from  tropical  heat  to  polar  cold.  They  were  moral 
pleurisies  which  exhausted  him  like  so  many  illnesses.  Flore 
only  in  the  whole  world  could  act  upon  him  so,  for  to  her 
alone  he  was  as  kind  as  he  was  silly. 

"What !  You  have  not  shaved  yet  ?"  said  she,  opening  the 
door.    She  made  Pere  Rouget  start  violently;  from  being 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


161 


pale  and  limp,  he  suddenly  turned  red  for  a  moment,  but 
dared  not  resent  this  attack. 

'^Your  breakfast  is  waiting.  But  you  may  go  down  in  your 
dressing-gown  and  slippers — you  will  breakfast  by  yourself." 

And  she  vanished  without  waiting  for  a  reply.  To  make 
the  poor  man  breakfast  alone  was  one  of  the  punishments 
which  most  deeply  distressed  him;  he  liked  to  talk  while  he 
was  eating.  As  he  reached  the  bottom  of  the  stairs,  Eouget 
was  seized  with  a  fit  of  coughing,  for  excitement  had  stirred 
his  rheum. 

"Oh  yes,  you  may  cough !"  said  Flore  in  the  kitchen,  not 
caring  whether  her  master  heard  her  or  no.  "My  word !  the 
old  wretch  is  strong  enough  to  weather  it  without  any  one 
troubling  theirselves  about  him !  If  he  ever  coughs  his  soul 
up,  it  won't  be  in  our  time." 

Such  were  the  amenities  with  which  la  Kabouilleuse  favored 
Eouget  in  her  fits  of  rage.  The  poor  man  sat  down  in  deep 
dejection  at  a  corner  of  the  table  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 
looking  at  his  old  furniture  and  old  pictures  with  a  desolate 
air. 

"You  might  have  put  on  a  necktie !"  said  Flore,  coming 
in.  "Do  you  think  a  neck  like  yours  is  pretty  to  see — redder 
ssnd  more  wrinkled  than  a  turkey-cock's." 

"But  what  have  I  done?"  he  asked,  raising  his  pale  green 
eyes  full  of  tears,  and  confronting  Flore's  cold  look. 

"What  have  you  done  ?"  she  echoed.  "And  you  don't  know  ? 
What  a  hypocrite !  Why,  your  sister  Agathe — who  is  as  much 
your  sister  as  I  am  sister  to  the  Tower  of  Issoudun,  if  you 
can  believe  your  father,  and  who  is  nothing  on  earth  to  you — 
is  coming  from  Paris  with  her  son,  that  wretched  tu'penny 
painter,  and  they're  coming  to  see  you  " 

"My  sister  and  nephews  are  coming  to  Issoudun?"  said 
he,  quite  bewildered. 

"Oh  yes;  you  may  pretend  to  be  astonished,  to  make  me 
believe  that  you  did  not  write  to  them  to  come!  That  is  a 
very  thin  trick.  Don't  be  afraid,  we  won't  interfere  with  your 
Paris  friends,  for  we  shall  have  shaken  the  dust  off  our  feet 


162  A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


before  they  set  theirs  within  these  walls!  Max  and  I  shall 
be  gone  never  to  return !  As  to  your  will — I  will  tear  it  in 
four  quarters  under  your  nose,  under  your  beard,  do  you 
hear?  You  may  leave  your  goods  to  your  family,  as  we  are 
not  your  family.  After  that  you  will  see  whether  you  are 
loved,  for  your  own  sake,  by  people  who  have  not  seen  you  foi 
thirty  years,  or  have  never  seen  you  at  all !  Your  sister  will 
not  fill  my  place — a  double-distilled  bigot  \" 

^^If  that  is  all,  my  pretty  Flore,'^  said  the  old  man,  "I  shall 
see  neither  my  sister  nor  my  nephews.  I  swear  to  you  sol- 
emnly that  this  is  the  first  word  I  have  heard  of  their  arrival, 
and  it  is  a  got-up  thing  arranged  by  Madame  Hochon,  the  old 
bigot  r 

Max,  who  had  heard  Pere  Rouget's  reply,  suddenly  came  in, 
saying  in  a  hectoring  tone,  "What  is  the  matter  ?" 

"My  good  Max,^^  the  old  man  went  on,  only  too  glad  to 
purchase  the  Major's  adhesion,  for,  by  agreement  with  Flore, 
he  was  always  to  take  Rouget^s  part,  "I  swear  to  you,  by  all 
that  is  sacred,  that  I  have  only  this  instant  heard  the  news. 
I  never  wrote  to  my  sister;  my  father  made  me  promise  to 
leave  her  nothing,  to  give  it  rather  to  the  Church — in  short, 
I  refuse  to  see  either  my  sister  Agathe  or  her  sons." 

"Your  father  was  wrong,  my  dear  J ean- Jacques,  and  mad- 
ame  is  yet  more  wrong,"  replied  Max.  "Your  father  had 
his  own  reasons — ^he  is  dead,  his  hatred  ought  to  die  with  him. 
Your  sister  is  your  sister,  your  nephews  are  your  nephews. 
You  owe  it  to  yourself  to  receive  them  cordially,  and  you  owe 
it  to  us  too.  What  would  be  said  in  Issoudun?  Sss — • 
thunder!  I  have  enough  on  my  shoulders;  the  only  thing 
wanting  is  to  give  rise  to  a  report  that  we  keep  you  shut  up, 
that  you  are  not  a  free  agent,  that  we  have  incensed  you 
against  your  heirs,  that  we  are  trying  to  possess  ourselves  of 
your  fortune.  .  .  .  The  Devil  may  take  me  if  I  don't 
desert  from  the  service  at  the  very  next  calumny ;  one  is  quite 
enough ! — Let  us  have  breakfast." 

Flore^  as  meek  as  a  mouse,  helped  Vedie  to  lay  the  table. 
Rouget,  filled  with  admiration  for  Max,  took  him  by  both 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


163 


hands,  led  him  into  a  window  bay,  and  said  to  him  in  an  un- 
dertone : 

"Ah,  Max,  if  I  had  a  son,  I  should  not  love  him  so  well  as  I 
love  you.  Flore  was  right  in  saying  that  you  two  are  my 
family.  .  .  .  You  have  a  sense  of  honor.  Max,  and  all 
you  have  said  is  very  right  

"You  ought  to  entertain  your  sister  and  your  nephew,"  said 
Max,  interrupting  him,  "but  ought  not  to  alter  your  will ;  thus 
you  will  satisfy  your  father  and  everybody  else.'' 

"Come,  my  little  dears  V  cried  Flore,  in  cheerful  tones,  "the 
salmis  will  be  cold.  There,  old  boy,  there  is  a  wing  for  you," 
she  said,  smiling  on  J ean- J acques. 

At  this  speech  the  old  fellow's  long  face  lost  its  cadaverous 
lints,  a  treacly  smile  played  on  his  flabby  lips ;  but  he  coughed 
again,  for  the  joy  of  being  received  again  into  favor  excited 
him  as  greatly  as  being  in  disgrace.  Flore  sprang  up, 
imatched  a  little  cashmere  shawl  off  her  shoulders,  and 
wrapped  it  round  the  old  man's  throat  as  a  comforter, 
saying: 

"It  is  silly  to  upset  yourself  so  over  trifles.    Here,  foolish 

old  boy,  that  will  do  you  good — it  has  been  next  my  heart 
 f> 

^^hat  a  good  soul !"  said  Eouget  to  Max,  while  Flore  went 
off  for  a  black  velvet  cap  to  cover  the  old  fellow's  almost  bald 
head. 

"As  good  as  she  is  handsome,"  replied  Max;  '^ut  a  little 
hasty,  like  all  those  who  carry  their  heart  in  their  hand." 

The  reader  may  feel  inclined  to  find  fault  with  the 
crudities  of  this  picture,  and  to  think  that  the  displays  of  la 
Rabouilleuse's  temper  are  marked  by  some  truths  which  the 
painter  should  leave  in  the  shade?  Well;  this  scene,  a  hun- 
dred times  repeated  with  horrible  variations,  is  in  all  its 
coarse  and  repulsive  veraciousness  the  type  of  that  which 
every  woman  will  play,  on  whatever  rung  of  the  social  ladder 
she  may  stand,  if  any  kind  of  self-interest  has  diverted  her 
from  the  path  of  obedience,  and  she  has  seized  the  reins  of 
power.    To  women  as  to  great  politicians— the  end  justifies 


164  A  BACHELOil'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


any  means.  Between  Flore  Brazier  and  a  duchess,  between 
the  duchess  and  the  richest  tradesman's  wife,  between  the 
tradesman's  wife  and  the  most  splendidly  kept  woman,  there 
are  no  differences  but  those  due  to  education  and  to  the  atmos- 
phere in  which  they  live.  A  fine  lady's  sulks  take  the  place 
of  Flore's  violence ;  in  every  rank  bitter  taunts,  witty  sarcasms, 
cold  disdain,  hypocritical  whining,  affected  quarrels,  are  quite 
as  successful  as  the  low  abuse  of  this  Madame  Everard  of 
Issoudun. 

Max  told  the  story  of  Fario  with  so  much  drollery  that  he 
made  the  old  fellow  laugh.  Vedie  and  Kouski,  who  had  come 
up  to  listen  to  the  tale,  exploded  in  the  passage.  As  for 
Flore,  she  laughed  hysterically.  After  breakfast,  while  Jean- 
Jacques  was  reading  the  papers — for  they  now  subscribed 
to  the  Constitutionnel  and  the  Pandore — Max  took  Flore  up 
to  his  room. 

'^Are  you  certain,"  said  he,  "that  he  has  never  made  an- 
other will  since  he  named  you  as  his  legatee  ?" 

"He  has  no  v/riting  things,"  said  she. 

"He  may  have  dictated  one  to  some  notary,"  said  Max.  "If 
he  has  not  done  so,  we  must  be  prepared  for  the  contingency. 
So  receive  the  Bridaus  as  well  as  possible;  but  meanwhile 
we  must  try,  as  soon  as  we  can,  to  realize  all  the  money  out  on 
mortgage.  Our  notaries  will  be  only  too  glad  to  effect  the 
transfers ;  that  is  what  they  eat  and  drink  by.  State  securities 
are  going  up  every  day ;  we  are  to  conquer  Spain  and  deliver 
Ferdinand  VII.  from  his  Cortes,  so  next  year  they  may  per- 
haps be  above  par.  So  if  will  be  a  good  stroke  of  business 
to  invest  the  old  man's  seven  hundred  and  fifty  thousand 
francs  in  the  funds  at  89.  Only  try  and  get  them  put  into 
your  name.    It  will  always  be  something  saved  from  the  fire.'^ 

"A  capital  idea,"  said  Flore. 

"And  as  on  eight  hundred  and  ninety  thousand  francs  he 
will  draw  fifty  thousand  francs  a  year,  you  must  get  him  to 
borrow  a  hundred  and  forty  thousand  francs  for  two  years, 
to  be  repaid  in  two  instalments.  Thus  in  two  years  we  shall 
be  drawing  a  hundred  thousand  francs  from  Paris  and  ninety 
thousand  here,  so  we  risk  nothing." 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


165 


"Without  you,  my  splendid  Max,  what  would  have  become 
of  us  !"  said  she. 

"Oh,  to-morrow  evening,  at  la  Cognette's,  after  I  have  seen 
this  Paris  couple,  I  wijl  find  some  means  of  making  the 
Hochons  themselves  see  them  off  the  premises.^' 

"Oh,  you  are  so  clever!  You  are  an  angel,  a  love  of  a 
manr 

The  Place  Saint- Jean  is  situated  half-way  down  a  street 
called  la  Grande  Narette  in  the  upper  part,  and  la  Petite 
Narette  below.  In  le  Berry  the  word  Narette  means  the 
same  sort  of  highway  as  the  Genoese  Salita,  a  street  built 
on  a  steep  slope.  Between  the  Place  Saint-Jeanandthe  Vilatie 
gate,  the  Narette  is  excessively  steep.  Old  Monsieur  Hochon's 
house  is  opposite  to  that  where  lived  Jean- Jacques  Eouget. 
What  was  going  on  at  Pere  Eouget's  could  often  be  seen  out  of 
the  drawing-room  window  where  Madame  Hochon  sat,  and 
vice  versa,  when  the  curtains  were  undrawn  or  the  doors  left 
open. 

Hochon's  house  is  so  much  like  Eouget's  that  they  were, 
no  doubt,  built  by  the  same  architect.  Hochon,  long  ago 
the  collector  of  taxes  at  Selles,  was  born  at  Issoudun,  and  re- 
turned thither  to  marry  the  sister  of  the  sub-delegate,  the 
gallant  Lousteau,  exchanging  his  post  at  Selles  for  a  similar 
one  at  Issoudun.  He  had  retired  before  1787,  and  so  escaped 
the  storms  of  the  Eevolution,  while  fully  supporting  its  prin- 
ciples, like  all  honest  men  who  shout  on  the  winning  side.  It 
was  not  for  nothing  that  Monsieur  Hochon  had  a  reputation 
for  avarice.  But  would  it  not  be  mere  vain  repetition  to 
describe  him?  One  of  the  miserly  acts,  which  made  him 
famous,  will,  no  doubt,  be  enough  to  paint  Monsieur  Hochon 
at  full  length. 

At  the  time  of  his  daughter's  marriage  to  a  Borniche — she 
was  since  dead — it  was  necessary  to  give  a  dinner  to  the  Bor- 
niche family.  The  bridegroom,  who  expected  to  inherit  a  fine 
fortune,  died  soon  after  of  grief  at  having  failed  in  busi- 
ness, and  yet  more  at  his  father's  and  mother's  refusal  to 


166 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


help  him.  These  old  Borniches  were  still  living,  delighted 
to  have  seen  Monsieur  Hochon  take  the  guardianship  of  his 
grandchildren  on  account  of  his  daughter's  settlement,  which 
he  had  succeeded  in  saving. 

On  the  day  when  the  marriage  contract  was  to  be  signed^ 
all  the  relations  of  both  families  had  assembled  in  the  draw- 
ing-room— the  Hochons  on  one  side,  and  the  Borniches  on 
the  other,  all  in  their  Sunday  best.  In  the  midst  of  reading 
the  contract,  very  solemnly  performed  by  young  Heron  the 
notary,  the  cook  came  in  and  asked  Monsieur  Hochon  for  some 
pack-thread  to  truss  the  turkey — an  important  item  in  the 
bill  of  fare.  The  old  tax-collector  pulled  out  of  the  depths 
of  his  coat-pocket  an  end  of  string,  which  had,  no  doubt, 
tied  up  some  parcel,  and  gave  it  to  her ;  but  before  the  woman 
had  reached  the  door,  he  called  out,  "Gritte,  let  me  have  it 
back  V    Gritte  is  a  local  abbreviation  of  Marguerite. 

This  will  enable  you  to  understand  Monsieur  Hochon,  and 
the  joke  perpetrated  by  the  town  on  the  name  of  the  family, 
consisting  of  the  father,  mother,  and  three  children— -Zes  cinq 
coclions,  the  five  pigs. 

As  years  went  by  old  Hochon  became  more  and  more  nig- 
gardly and  careful,  and  he  was  now  eighty-five  years  of  age. 
He  was  one  of  those  who  will  stoop  in  the  street,  in  the  midst 
of  an  animated  conversation,  to  pick  up  a  pin,  saying,  "That 
is  a  woman's  wage !"  and  stick  it  into  his  coat  cuff.  He  com- 
plained bitterly  of  the  inferior  quality  of  cloth  nowadays,  re- 
marking that  his  coat  had  lasted  only  ten  years^  Tall,  lean, 
and  bony,  with  a  yellow  complexion,  speaking  little,  reading 
little,  never  fatiguing  himself,  as  ceremonious  as  an  Oriental, 
he  maintained  a  rule  of  strict  sobriety  in  his  household,  doling 
out  food  and  drink  to  his  fairly  numerous  family,  consisting 
of  his  wife  nee  Lousteau,  of  his  grandson  Baruch  and  grand- 
daughter Adolphine,  the  heirs  of  the  old  Borniches,  and  of  his 
other  grandson,  Frangois  Hochon. 

His  eldest  son,  caught  for  the  army  in  1813  by  the  levy  of 
men  of  respectable  birth  who  escaped  the  conscription,  and 
who  were  enrolled  under  the  name  of  guards  of  honor,  was 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT  167 


killed  at  the  battle  of  Hanau.  The  heir-presumptive  had 
married,  very  young,  a  rich  woman,  hoping  thus  to  evade  any 
call  to  arms ;  but  then  he  ran  through  all  his  money,  foresee- 
ing the  end.  His  wife,  who  followed  the  French  army  at  a 
distance,  died  at  Strasbourg  in  1814,  leaving  debts  which  old 
Hochon  would  not  pay,  quoting  to  the  creditors  the  axiom  of 
a  past  code,  "Women  are  minors/^ 

So  follcs  could  still  say  les  cinq  Hochons,  smce  the  house- 
hold consisted  of  three  grandchildren  and  two  grandparents ; 
and  the  ,iest  still  survived,  for  in  the  country  no  jest  grows 
too  stale.  Gritte.  now  sixty  years  old,  managed  ail  the  work 
of  the  house. 

The  house,  though  spacious,  was  scantily  furnished.  How- 
ever, Madame  Bridau  could  be  very  decently  lodged  in  two 
rooms  on  the  second  floor.  Old  Hochon  now  repented  of 
having  kept  two  beds  in  these  rooms,  and  belonging  to  each 
an  old  armchair  in  unvarnished  wood^  with  a  worsted-work 
seat,  and  a  walnut  wood  table,  on  which  stood  a  wide-mouthed 
water  jug  in  a  basin  edged  with  blue.  The  old  man  kept 
his  apples  and  winter  pears,  his  quinces  and  medlars,  on  straw 
in  these  two  rooms,  where  the  rats  and  mice  had  a  high  time, 
imd  there  was  a  strong  flavor  of  fruit  and  mice.  Madame 
Hochon  had  everything  cleaned;  the  paper,  where  it  had 
fallen  from  the  walls,  was  stuck  on  again  with  wafers;  she 
furnished  the  windows  with  muslin  blinds  cut  out  of  some  old 
skirts  of  her  own.  Then,  when  her  husband  refused  to  buy 
two  little  list  rugs,  she  placed  her  own  bedside  rug  for  her 
little  Agathe,  talking  of  this  mother  of  past  seven-and-f orty  as 
"Poor  child  V\ 

Madame  Hochon  borrowed  two  bed-tables  from  the  Bor- 
niches,  and  most  daringly  hired  from  a  second-hand  shop  two 
old  chests  of  drawers  with  brass  handles.  She  possessed  two 
pairs  of  candlesticks,  made  of  some  scarce  wood  by  her  father, 
who  had  had  a  passion  for  turning.  From  1770  to  1780  it 
had  been  the  fashion  among  rich  people  to  learn  a  trade ;  and 
Monsieur  Lousteau  the  elder,  head  commissioner  of  subsidies, 
was  a  turner,  as  Louis  XVI.  was  a  locksmith.    These  candle- 


168 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


sticks  were  decorated  with  rings  in  brier-root,  peach,  and 
apricot  wood.    Madame  Hochon  risked  these  precious  relics ! 

All  these  preparations  and  this  great  sacrifice  added  to 
Monsieur  Hochon's  serious  mien;  he  did  not  yet  believe  that 
the  Bridaus  would  come. 

On  the  very  morning  of  the  day  made  famous  by  the  trick 
played  on  Fario,  Madame  Hochon  said  to  her  husband  after 
breakfast : 

"I  hope,  Hochon,  that  you  will  make  Madame  Bridau,  my 
goddaughter,  properly  welcome."  Then,  after  assuring  her- 
self that  her  grandchildren  had  left  the  room,  she  added :  "I 
am  mistress  of  my  own  fortune;  do  not  compel  me  to  in- 
demnify Agathe  by  my  will  for  an  unpleasant  reception." 

"And  do  you  suppose,  madame,"  said  Hochon  gently,  "that 
at  my  age  I  do  not  know  how  to  behave  with  decent  civility." 

"You  know: very  well  what  I  mean,  old  fox!  Be  kind  to 
our  guests,  and  remember  how  truly  I  love  Agathe  " 

"Yes,  and  you  truly  loved  Maxence  Gilet,  who  is  going  ij) 
swallow  whole  the  fortune  that  ought  to  be  your  Agathe^s'. 
Ah !  you  cherished  a  serpent  in  your  bosom  then ! — After  al] , 
the  Eougets^  money  was  fated  to  belong  to  some  Lousteau  or 
another." 

Having  made  this  allusion  to  the  supposed  parentage  of 
Agathe  and  of  Max,  Hochon  was  about  to  leave  the  room; 
but  old  Madame  Hochon,  still  slender  and  upright,  wearing 
a  mob  cap  with  bows,  and  her  hair  powdered,  with  a  shot- 
silk  petticoat,  tight  sleeves,  and  high-heeled  slippers,  set  her 
snuff-box  down  on  her  little  table,  and  said: 

"Really,  Monsieur  Hochon,  how  can  a  clever  man  like  you 
repeat  the  nonsense  which,  unluckily,  destroyed  my  poor 
friend's  peace  of  mind,  and  cost  my  poor  goddaughter  her 
share  of  her  father's  fortune  ?  Max  Gilet  is  not  my  brother's 
son,  and  I  often  advised  him  to  save  the  money  he  spent  on 
him.  And  you  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  Madame  Rouget 
was  virtue  itself  " 

"Well,  the  daughter  is  worthy  of  her  mother,  for  she  seems 
to  me  a  great  goose.    After  losing  all  her  money,  she  brought 


A  BACilELOK'S  ESTABLISHMENT  169 


up  her  sons  so  well  that  one  of  them  is  in  prison  awaiting 
his  trial  before  the  supreme  court  for  a  conspiracy  a  la  Berton. 
As  to  the  other — worse  and  worse !  he  is  a  painter. — If  your 
proteges  remain  here  till  they  have  extracted  that  idiot  Rouget 
from  the  clutches  of  la  Rabouilleuse  and  Gilet,  we  shall  get 
through  more  than  one  bushel  of  salt  with  them." 

"That  will  do^  Monsieur  Hochon ;  but  you  might  wish  them 
success !" 

Monsieur  Hochon  took  up  his  hat  and  his  ivory-handled 
cane,  and  went  out,  amazed  by  this  alarming  speech,  for  he 
had  not  supposed  his  wife  to  be  so  determined.  Madame 
Hochon,  on  her  part,  took  her  prayer-book  to  read  the  order 
of  service,  her  great  age  hindering  her  from  going  to  mass 
every  morning.  It  was  with  difficulty  that  she  got  to  church 
on  Sundays  and  high  festivals.  Since  receiving  Agathe's 
reply  she  had  added  to  her  regular  prayers  a  special  inter- 
cession, beseeching  God  to  open  the  eyes  of  Jean- Jacques 
Houget,  to  bless  Agathe,  and  to  grant  success  to  the  under- 
taking to  which  she  had  been  driven. 

Concealing  the  fact  from  her  two  grandsons,  whom  she 
regarded  as  parpaillots  (renegades),  she  had  requested  the 
cure  to  say  masses  for  nine  days,  attended  by  her  granddaugh- 
ter Adolphine  Borniche,  who  put  up  her  grandmother's 
prayers  in  the  church  as  her  proxy. 

Adolphine,  now  eighteen,  having  stitched  by  her  grand- 
mother's side  for  seven  years,  in  this  chill  home  of  methodical 
and  melancholy  regularity,  was  all  the  more  ready  to  per- 
form the  neuvaine,  because  she  hoped  to  inspire  some  tender 
feeling  in  Joseph  Bridau,  the  painter  so  little  understood  by 
Monsieur  Hochon,  and  in  whom  she  took  a  keen  interest,  were 
it  only  on  account  of  the  monstrous  ideas  her  grandfather 
attributed  to  the  young  Paris  artist. 

Old  people,  wise  people,  the  magnates  of  the  town,  and 
fathers  of  families,  all  approved  of  Madame  Hochon's  con- 
duct; and  their  good  wishes  for  her  goddaughter  and  for 
Agathe's  sons  were  reinforced  by  the  secret  contempt  they  had 
Icng  felt  for  the  proceedings  of  Maxence  Gilet.  So  the  advent 


170  A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 

of  Pere  Eouget^s  sister  and  nephew  gave  rise  to  two  factions  ir 
Issoudun:  that  of  the  older  and  upper  citizen  class^  who 
could  only  watch  events  and  hope  for  the  best  without  helping 
matters;  and  that  of  the  Knights  of  Idlesse  and  Max's  par- 
tisans, who  were,  unfortunately,  capable  of  doing  much  mis- 
chief to  undermine  the  Parisians. 

On  this  day,  then,  Agathe  and  J oseph  got  out  of  the  coach  at 
the  office  of  the  Messageries,  Place  Misere,  at  three  in  the 
afternoon.  Though  tired,  Madame  Bridau  felt  young  again  at 
the  sight  of  her  native  town,  where  at  every  step  she  found 
some  reminiscence  and  impression  of  her  girlhood.  In  the 
state  of  mind  prevailing  at  Issoudun  the  arrival  of  the  Pa- 
risians was  known  all  over  the  town  within  ten  minutes. 

Madame  Ilochon  appeared  at  the  front  gate  to  receive  her 
goddaughter,  and  kissed  her  as  if  she  had  been  a  child  of  her 
own.  After  seventy-two  years  of  a  life  as  empty  as  it  was 
monotonous,  with  nothing  to  look  back  upon  but  the  coffins 
of  her  three  children,  all  dying  in  misfortune,  she  had  culti- 
vated a  sort  of  artificial  motherhood  for  the  girl  who,  as  sh(! 
expressed  it,  had  for  sixteen  years  lived  in  her  pocket.  In  the 
gloom  of  a  provincial  life  she  had  cherished  this  old  regard, 
this  child's  life,  and  all  its  memories,  just  as  if  Agathe  were 
still  with  her,  and  she  took  a  passionate  interest  in  all  that 
concerned  the  Bridaus. 

Agathe  was  led  in  triumph  into  the  drawing-room,  where 
worthy  Monsieur  Hochon  stood  as  cold  as  a  raked-out  oven. 

^'^Here  is  Monsieur  Hochon;  how  do  you  think  he  is  look- 
ing?" 

"Why,  exactly  as  he  did  when  I  left  him,'^  said  Agathe. 

"Ah,  it  is  evident  you  have  come  from  Paris,  you  pay  com- 
pliments," said  the  old  man. 

The  family  were  introduced :  first,  little  Baruch  Borniche, 
a  tall  youth  of  two-and-twenty ;  then  little  Frangois  Hochon, 
now  twenty-four;  and  lastly,  little  Adolphine,  who  blushed, 
and  did  not  know  what  to  do  with  her  hands,  and  especially 
with  her  eyes,  for  she  did  not  wish  to  appear  to  stare  at 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


171 


Joseph  Bridau,  who  was  airxiously  examined  by  the  two  lads 
and  by  old  Hochon,  but  from  different  points  of  view.  The 
miser  was  reflecting,  "He  must  have  just  come  out  of  a  hos- 
pital ;  he  will  eat  like  a  fever-patient." 

The  two  young  men  were  saying  to  themselves,  "What  a 
brigand !    What  a  head !    We  shall  have  our  hands  full !" 

"Here  is  my  son  the  painter,  my  good  J oseph,"  said  Agathe 
finally,  introducing  the  artist. 

There  was  a  little  sigh  in  the  emphasis  on  the  word  "good,'' 
which  betrayed  Agathe's  heart;  she  was  thinking  of  the 
prisoner  at  the  Luxembourg. 

"He  looks  ill/'  cried  Madame  Hochon;  "he  is  not  like 


"No,  madame,"  said  Joseph,  with  the  rough  simplicity  of 
an  artist,  "I  am  like  my  father,  only  uglier !" 

Madame  Hochon  pressed  Agathe's  hand,  which  she  was 
holding,  and  gave  her  a  look.  That  grasp,  that  glance  were 
meant  to  convey: 

"Ah,  my  child,  I  quite  understand  your  preferring  that 
scapegrace  Philippe." 

"I  never  saw  your  father,  my  dear  boy,"  replied  Madame 
Hochon  aloud ;  '^ut  that  you  are  your  mother's  son  is  enough 
to  make  me  love  you.  Besides,  you  have  talent,  from  what  the 
late  Madame  Descoings  used  to  write  to  me ;  she  was  the  only 
person  to  give  me  any  news  of  you  in  these  latter  times." 

"Talent?"  said  the  artist;  "no,  not  yet;  but  with  time 
and  perseverance  I  may  some  day  win  both  glory  and  for- 
tune." 

"By  painting  ?"  said  Monsieur  Hochon,  with  deep  irony. 

"Come,  Adolphine,"  said  Madame  Hochon,  "go  and  see 
about  getting  the  dinner  served." 

"Mother,"  said  Joseph,  "I  will  go  and  carry  up  our  trunks, 
which  have  just  come." 

"Hochon,  will  you  show  Monsieur  Bridau  the  rooms,"  said 
the  grandmother  to  Francois. 

As  dinner  was  not  till  four,  and  it  was  now  but  half-past 
three, Baruch  went  round  the  town  giving  news  of  the  Bridaus* 

VOL.  4—38 


t72  A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


arrival,  describing  Agathe's  dress,  and,  above  all,  Joseph^ 
whose  hollow  cheeks  and  sickly,  strongly-marked  features  were 
like  the  ideal  portrait  of  a  brigand.  In  every  house  that 
day  Joseph  was  the  sole  subject  of  conversation. 

"Old  Rouget^s  sister  must  have  met  an  ape  somewhere  be- 
fore her  son  was  born;  he  is  just  like  a  monkey." — "He  has  a 
face  like  a  brigand,  and  eyes  like  a  basilisk." — ".They  say  he  is 
extraordinary  to  behold,  quite  alarming." — "All  Paris  artists 
are  the  same." — "They  are  as  spiteful  as  cunning  asses,  and 
as  vicious  as  apes." — "It  is  in  the  nature  of  their  calling." — 
"I  have  just  seen  Monsieur  Beaussier,  who  says  he  would  not 
for  worlds  meet  him  at  night  in  the  woods.  He  saw  him  in 
the  diligence." — "He  has  hollows  in  his  face  like  a  horse,  and 
he  waves  his  arms  like  a  madman." — "That  fellow  is  capable 
of  any  crime;  it  is  his  fault,  perhaps,  that  his  brother,  who 
was  a  fine  handsome  man,  has  gone  to  the  bad.  Poor  Mad- 
ame Bridau,  she  does  not  look  very  happy  with  him.  Sup- 
pose we  take  advantage  of  his  being  here  to  have  our  likeness 
drawn  ?" 

The  result  of  these  opinions,  sown  broadcast  in  the  town  as 
if  by  the  winds,  was  a  devouring  curiosity.  All  who  had 
a  right  to  call  on  the  Hochons  promised  themselves  that  they 
would  do  so  that  evening,  to  inspect  the  Parisians.  The  ar- 
rival of  these  two  persons  in  a  stagnant  town  like  Tssoudun 
was  as  startling  as  the  fall  of  the  Log  among  the  Frogs. 
.-  After  placing  his  mother's  luggage  and  his  own  in  the  two 
attic  rooms,  and  looking  round  them,  Joseph  studied  the 
silent  house,  where  the  stairs,  walls,  and  panels,  bare  of  adorn- 
ment, shed  a  chill,  and  there  was  not  a  thing  beyond  what  was 
strictly  necessary.  But  when,  on  going  downstairs,  he  found 
Monsieur  Hochon  himself  cutting  a  slice  of  bread  for  each 
person,  he  understood  for  the  first  time  Moliere's  Harpagon. 

"We  should  have  done  better  at  the  inn,"  thought  he. 

The  dinner  confirmed  his  apprehensions.  After  a  soup, 
so  thin  that  quantity  was  evidently  preferred  to  quality,  a 
dish  of  bouilli  was  served — fresh-boiled  beef — triumphantly 
wreathed  with  parsley.    The  vegetables  cooked  with  it,  served 


A  BACHPJLOK'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


178 


in  a  separate  dish,  were  part  of  the  bill  of  fare.  The  meat 
crowned  the  table,  and  was  flanked  by  three  other  dishes; 
hard  eggs  on  sorrel  opposite  the  vegetables,  and  a  salad,  ready 
dressed  with  nut-oil,  opposite  little  cups  of  custard  flavored 
with  burnt  oats  as  a  substitute  for  vanilla — as  much  like 
vanilla  as  chicory  is  like  Mocha.  Butter,  and  radishes  on 
little  plates  at  the  opposite  ends,  black  radishes  and  gherkins, 
completed  the  display,  which  Madame  Hochon  highly  ap- 
proved. The  good  old  lady  nodded  at  her  husband,  as  a 
hostess  happy  to  see  that,  at  any  rate  for  the  first  day,  he  had 
done  things  in  style.  The  old  man  responded  with  a  look  and 
a  shrug,  easily  interpreted  to  mean : 

"You  see  what  recklessness  you  lead  me  into  !" 

As  soon  as  the  bouilli  had  been  dissected  by  Monsieur 
Hochon  into  slices  as  thin  as  the  sole  of  your  slipper,  it  was 
removed  to  make  way  for  three  pigeons.  The  wine  was  of  the 
vintage  of  1811.  At  a  hint  from  her  grandmother,  Adolphine 
had  graced  each  end  of  the  table  with  a  bunch  of  flowers. 

"Well,  make  the  best  of  a  bad  job thought  the  artist,  aH 
he  looked  at  the  table.  And  he  began  to  eat  like  a  man  who 
had  breakfasted  at  Vierzon  at  six  in  the  morning,  off  an 
execrable  cup  of  coffee. 

When  J oseph  had  eaten  his  bread  and  asked  for  some  more, 
Monsieur  Hochon  rose,  slowly  felt  for  a  key  in  the  depths  of 
his  coat-pocket,  opened  a  cupboard  behind  him,  flourished  the 
stump  of  a  twelve-pound  loaf,  ceremoniously  cut  off  another 
slice,  which  he  divided  in  two,  put  it  on  a  plate,  and  passed 
the  plate  across  the  table  to  the  young  painter,  with  the 
silence  and  composure  of  an  old  soldier,  who  says  to  him- 
self at  the  beginning  of  a  battle,  "Well,  I  may  be  dead  by  to- 
night." 

Joseph  took  half  the  slice,  and  understood  that  he  must 
never  again  ask  for  more  bread.  No  member  of  the  family 
was  surprised  at  this  scene,  which  to  Joseph  seemed  so  pre- 
posterous. 

The  conversation  went  on.  Agathe  heard  that  the  house 
she  was  born  in,  her  father's  house  before  he  had  inherited 


174 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


that  of  the  Descoings,  had  been  bought  by  the  Bomiches,  and 
she  expressed  a  wish  to  see  it  again. 

•^The  Borniches  will  call  this  evening,  no  doubt,"  said  her 
godmother.  "All  the  town  will  come  to  inspect  you/'  she 
added  to  Joseph,  "and  they  will  ask  you  to  their  houses." 

i^'or  dessert  the  maid  brought  in  the  famous  soft  cheeses 
of  Touraine  and  le  Berry,  made  of  goat's  milk,  which  so 
exactly  reproduce,  in  a  sort  of  niello,  the  veining  of  the  vine- 
leaves  on  which  they  are  served,  that  engraving  might  very 
well  have  been  invented  in  Touraine.  On  each  side  of  the 
little  cheeses  Gritte  ceremoniously  served  some  walnuts  and 
some  rocky  biscuits. 

"Come,  Gritte,  bring  us  some  fruit,"  said  Madame  Hochon. 

"Madame,  there  is  no  rotten  fruit  left,"  replied  Gritte. 

Joseph  shouted  with  laughter,  as  if  he  had  been  in  his 
studio  with  his  own  companions,  for  he  understood  at  once  that 
the  precaution  of  beginning  first  on  damaged  fruit  had  de- 
generated into  a  habit. 

"Oh,  we  can  eat  it  all  the  same !"  said  he,  with  the  dash  of 
spirit  of  a  man  who  feels  that  he  must  speak. 

"Pray  go  for  some.  Monsieur  Hochon,"  said  the  old  lady. 

Monsieur  Hochon,  much  annoyed  by  the  artist's  remark, 
fetched  some  small  peaches,  some  pears,  and  late  plums. 

"Adolphine,  go  and  cut  some  grapes,"  said  Madame  Hochon 
to  her  granddaughter. 

Joseph  looked  at  the  two  young  men  with  an  expression 
that  seemed  to  say,  "And  is  it  to  such  a  diet  as  this  that  you 
owe  your  blooming  appearance  ?" 

Baruch  understood  this  keen  glance,  and  could  not  help 
smiling,  for  his  cousin  Hochon  and  he  had  displayed  moderate 
appetites.  The  food  at  home  was  a  matter  of  indifference  to 
men  who  supped  three  times  a  week  at  la  Cognette's.  And 
just  before  dinner,  Baruch  had  had  notice  that  the  Grand 
Master  of  the  Order  had  summoned  a  full  meeting  at  mid- 
night to  have  a  splendid  supper,  as  he  required  their  co-opera- 
tion. 

This  banquet  of  welcome  offered  to  his  guests  by  old  Hochon 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


175 


explains  how  necessary  these  midnight  festivities  were  for 
the  maintenance  of  these  two  great  fellows,  who  had  fine  ap- 
petites, and  who  never  missed  one. 

"We  will  have  some  liqueurs  in  the  drawing-room/^  said 
Madame  Hochon,  rising,  and  signing  to  Joseph  to  give  her 
his  arm.  They  went  out  first,  and  she  was  able  to  say  to  the 
painter,  "Well,  my  poor  boy,  your  dinner  will  not  give  you  an 
indigestion;  but  I  had  great  difficulty  in  procuring  it  for 
you !  You  will  find  lenten  fare  here ;  just  enough  to  eat  to 
keep  you  alive,  and  that  is  all.    So  just  make  the  best  of  it." 

The  frank  simplicity  of  the  old  lady,  thus  pronouncing 
judgment  on  her  own  house,  pleased  the  painter. 

"I  shall  have  lived  fifty  years  with  that  old  man  without 
ever  having  heard  twenty  crowns  jingle  in  my  purse.  Oh, 
if  it  were  not  for  the  hope  of  saving  your  fortune,  I  would 
never  have  invited  your  mother  and  you  to  stay  in  my 
prison !" 

"But. how  is  it  that  you  are  still  alive?"  said  the  painter 
artlessly,  with  the  light-heartedness  that  never  deserts  a 
French  artist. 

"Ah,  indeed,"  said  she.    "I  pray." 

J oseph  felt  a  thrill  as  he  heard  these  words,  which  gave  the 
old  woman  such  dignity  in  his  eyes  that  he  drew  back  two  or 
three  steps  to  look  in  her  face ;  he  saw  it  radiant,  full  of  such 
tender  serenity,  that  he  said  to  her : 

"I  will  paint  your  portrait  " 

"No,  no,"  said  she.  "I  have  hated  life  on  earth  too  much 
to  wish  to  remain  on  it  in  a  picture." 

As  she  spoke  the  sad  words  in  a  light  tone,  she  took  from 
a  cupboard  a  flask  containing  black-currant  brandy,  a  house- 
hold liqueur  prepared  by  herself,  for  she  had  had  the  recipe 
from  the  famous  Sisterhood  who  also  created  the  Issoudun 
cakes,  one  of  the  greatest  achievements  of  French  confection- 
ery, which  no  chef,  cook,  pastry-cook,  or  confectioner  has  ever 
been  able  to  imitate.  Monsieur  de  Eiviere,  the  Ambassador  to 
Constantinople,  ordered  immense  numbers  every  year  for 
Mahmoud's  seraglio.    Adolphine  held  a  small  lacquer  tray 


176  A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


full  of  little  old-fashioned  glasses  with  an  engraved  pattern 
and  a  gilt  rim;  as  her  grandmother  filled  them,  she  carried 
them  round. 

''Glasses  round. — Father  will  have  some !"  cried  Agathe 
gaily,  reminded  of  her  young  days  by  this  time-honored  cere- 
mony. 

"Hochon  will  go  presently  to  his  club  to  read  the  papers; 
we  shall  have  a  little  time  to  ourselves/'  said  the  old  lady  in  a 
low  voice. 

In  fact,  ten  minutes  later,  the  three  women  and  Joseph 
were  left  to  themselves  in  the  drawing-room.  Its  floor  was 
never  polished,  only  swept,  while  the  tapestried  panels,  in  oak 
frames,  with  deep  ogees  and  mouldings,  and  all  the  simple 
heavy  furniture,  stood  before  Madame  Bridau  exactly  as  she 
had  left  them.  The  Monarchy,  the  Revolution,  the  Empire, 
and  the  Restoration,  respecters  of  few  things,  had  respected 
this  room^  where  their  splendors  and  disasters  had  left  not 
a  trace. 

"Ah,  godmother,  my  life  has  been  cruelly  storm-tossed  in 
comparison  with  yours  exclaimed  Madame  Bridau,  surprised 
to  see  even  a  canary  bird,  which  she  had  known  alive,  stuffed 
and  standing  on  the  chimney-shelf  between  the  old  clock  and 
the  old  brass  branched  candlesticks  and  silver  taper  stands. 

"My  child,''  replied  the  old  lady,  "storms  are  in  the  heart. 
The  greater  and  the  more  needed  is  our  resignation,  the 
greater  must  our  inmost  struggles  be. — But  we  will  not  talk 
of  me,  but  of  your  affairs.  You  are  indeed  exactly  opposite 
the  foe,"  she  went  on,  pointing  to  the  windows  of  old  Rouget's 
house. 

"They  are  sitting  down  to  dinner,"  remarked  Adolphine. 

The  young  girl,  almost  a  recluse,  was  constantly  looking 
out  of  window,  hoping  to  catch  some  light  shed  by  chance 
on  the  enormities  ascribed  to  Maxence  Gilet,  to  la  Rabouil- 
leuse,  and  to  Jean- Jacques,  of  which  a  hint  now  and  again 
reached  her  ears  v/hen  she  was  sent  away  while  they  were 
discussed.  The  old  lady  now  told  her  granddaughter  to  leave 
her  with  Monsieur  and  Madame  Bridau  till  the  first  visitor 
should  come. 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


177 


"For  I  know  my  Issoiidun,"  said  she,  looking  at  the  two 
Parisians ;  "we  shall  have  ten  or  twelve  batches  of  inquisitive 
callers  this  evening/^ 

Madame  Kochon  had  hardly  had  time  to  give  them  the 
events  and  particulars  concerning  the  extraordinary  influence 
exerted  over  Jean-Jacques  Rouget  by  la  Rabouilleuse  and 
Maxence  Gilet — not  with  the  synthetic  brevity  with  which 
they  have  here  been  narrated,  but  with  the  addition  of  a  thou- 
sand comments,  descriptions,  and  hypotheses  lent  to  them  by 
good  and  evil  tongues  in  the  town — when  Adolphine  an- 
nounced the  approach  of  the  Borniches,  the  Beaussiers,  the 
Lonstean-Prangins,  the  Fichets,  the  Goddet-Heraus,  fourteen 
persons  in  all,  who  loomed  in  the  distance. 

"So,  you  see,  my  dear  child,"  said  the  old  lady  in  conclusion, 
"that  it  will  be  no  small  matter  to  drag  this  fortune  out  of  the 
wolfs  mouth  " 

"It  seems  to  me  so  difficult,  with  such  a  scoundrel  as  you 
have  described,  and  a  slut  like  that  young  witch,  that  it  must 
be  impossible,"  said  Joseph.  "We  should  have  to  remain  at 
Issoudun  a  year  at  least  to  combat  their  influence  and  undo 
their  power  over  my  uncle. — No  fortune  is  worth  so  mucli 
vexation,  to  say  nothing  of  having  to  stoop  to  a  thousand 
dishonorable  tricks.  My  mother  has  but  a  fortnight's  leave 
of  absence;  her  appointment  is  a  certainty,  and  she  must  not 
risk  losing  it.  In  the  month  of  October  I  have  some  im- 
portant work  to  do  which  Schinner  has  secured  for  me  in  a 
nobleman^s  house.  And  to  me,  madame,  yon  see,  fortune  lies 
in  my  paint-brnshes." 

This  speech  was  received  with  profound  amazement.  Mad- 
ame Hochon,  though  relatively  superior  to  the  place  she  lived 
in,  did  not  believe  in  painting.  She  looked  at  her  goddaugh- 
ter, and  again  grasped  her  hand. 

"This  Maxence  is  a  second  edition  of  Philippe,"  said  Joseph 
in  his  mother's  ear;  "but  with  more  policy,  more  style  than 
Philippe  has." — "Well,  madame,"  he  added  aloud,  "we  shall 
not  long  put  Monsieur  Hochon  out  of  his  way  by  staying 
here/^ 


178 


A  BACHELOR^S  ESTABLISHMENT 


"Oh,  you  are  young;  you  know  nothing  of  the  world/'  said 
the  old  lady.  "In  a  fortnight,  with  a  little  political  ma- 
noeuvring, you  may  do  something.  Listen  to  my  advice,  and 
act  as  I  may  direct  you.'' 

"Oh,  very  gladly!''  cried  Joseph.  "I  am  conscious  of  in- 
effable incapacity  in  domestic  tactics ;  and  I  am  sure  I  do  not 
know  what  Desroches  himself  would  advise  us  to  do  if,  for 
instance,  my  uncle  refuses  to  see  us  to-morrow." 

Mesdames  Borniche,  Goddet-Herau,  Beaussier,  Lousteau- 
Prangin,  and  Fichet,  graced  by  their  husbands,  now  came  in. 

After  the  usual  greetings,  and  when  the  fourteen  persons 
had  found  seats,  Madame  Hochon  could  not  avoid  introduc- 
ing to  them  her  goddaughter  Agathe  and  Joseph  Bridau. 
Joseph  remained  on  a  sofa,  and  gave  himself  up  to  a  covert 
study  of  the  sixty  faces  which  from  half-past  five  till  nine 
came  to  sit  to  him  gratis,  as  he  said  to  his  mother.  And 
Joseph's  attitude  throughout  this  evening  in  regard  to  the 
patricians  of  Issoudun  did  nothing  to  alter  the  views  of  the 
little  town  in  regard  to  him.  Every  one  left  chilled  by  his 
ironical  gaze,  uncomfortable  under  his  smile,  or  alarmed  by 
his  face,  sinister,  no  doubt,  to  people  who  could  not  discern 
the  eccentricity  of  genius. 

At  ten  o'clock,  when  everybody  went  to  bed,  the  old  lady 
detained  her  goddaughter  in  her  room  till  midnight.  Then, 
knowing  that  they  were  alone,  the  two  women,  while  telling 
each  other  the  troubles  of  their  lives,  made  an  exchange  of 
suffering.  As  she  measured  the  vastness  of  the  solitude  in 
which  all  the  powers  of  a  beautiful  soul  had  been  spent  un- 
recognized, as  she  heard  the  last  utterances  of  an  intelligence 
that  had  missed  its  opportunities,  as  she  learned  the  sorrows 
of  a  heart  so  essentially  generous  and  charitable,  but  whose 
generosity  and  charity  had  never  had  full  play,  Agathe  no 
longer  regarded  herself  as  the  more  unfortunate  of  the  two,  as 
she  perceived  how  much  mitigation  and  minor  happiness  her 
Paris  life  had  afforded  in  the  midst  of  the  discipline  ap- 
pointed her  by  God. 

"You  who  are  so  pious,  godmother,  tell  me  my  faults,"  said 
she.    "Tell  me  what  it  is  that  Gad  is  Dunishiny-  me  for." 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


179 


''He  prepares  us,  my  child/'  replied  the  old  lady  as  raid- 
night  struck. 

At  midnight  the  Knights  of  Idlesse  were  making  their 
way,  one  by  one,  like  shades,  to  meet  under  the  trees  of  the 
Boulevard  Baron,  and  walked  to  and  fro,  talking  in  low 
whispers. 

"What  is  up     was  the  first  question  of  each  newcomer. 
"I  fancy,''  said  Frangois,  "that  all  Max  intends  is  to  give 
us  a  feed." 

"No.  Matters  are  looking  awkward  for  him  and  la  Ka- 
bouilleuse.  He  has  concocted  some  plot  against  these  Pa- 
risians no  doubt  " 

"It  would  be  good  fun  to  pack  them  off  again." 

"My  grandfather,"  said  Baruch,  "is  in  a  fright  already  at 
having  two  more  mouths  to  fill,  and  he  would  jump  at  any 
excuse  " 

"Well,  Knights !"  cried  Max  in  a  low  voice  as  he  came  up, 
"why  are  you  gazing  at  the  stars  ?  They  will  not  distil  kirsch 
on  our  heads.    To  la  Cognette's  !    To  la  Cognette's  V 

"To  la  Cognette's !" 

The  shout  as  of  one  voice  produced  a  fearful  din,  that  swept 
across  the  little  town  like  the  hue  of  soldiers  rushing  on  an 
assault ;  then  utter  silence  fell.  Next  morning  more  than  one 
person  would  say  to  his  neighbor :  "Did  you  hear  that  fearful 
yell  last  night  at  about  one  o'clock?  I  thought  there  was  ;i 
fire  somewhere." 

A  supper  worthy  of  la  Cognette  cheered  the  eyes  of  the  two- 
and-twenty  guests,  for  the  Order  was  present  in  all  its  num- 
bers. At  two  in  the  morning,  when  they  were  beginning  to 
siroter,  a  word  of  their  own  peculiar  slang,  fairly  descriptive 
of  the  art  of  drinking  in  sips  and  slowly  tasting  the  wine, 
Max  addressed  the  meeting : — 

"My  dear  boys,  this  morning,  in  consequence  of  the  never- 
to-be  forgotten  trick  we  played  with  Fario's  cart,  your  Grand 
Master  was  so  grossly  insulted  on  a  point  of  honor  by  that  base 
corn-dealer,  and  a  Spaniard  to  boot — Ah,  those  hulks ! — that 


180 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


I  am  determined  to  let  that  miscreant  feel  the  whole  weight 
of  my  vengeance,  within  the  strict  limits  of  our  sports.  After 
considering  the  matter  all  day,  I  have  hit  on  a  plan  for  playing 
him  a  capital  trick,  a  trick  that  is  enough  to  drive  him  mad. 
While  avenging  the  Order  attacked  in  my  person,  we  may  feed 
certain  animals  worshiped  by  the  Egyptians,  little  beasts  which 
are,  after  all,  God's  creatures  though  men  persecute  them 
unjustly.  Good  comes  of  evil,  and  evil  of  good;  such  is  the 
divine  law !  I  require  you  each  and  all,  under  pain  of  your 
humble  servant  and  Grand  Master's  displeasure,  to  procure, 
as  secretly  as  possible,  twenty  rats,  or  if  possible,  lady  rats 
expecting  families  by  God's  grace.  You  must  collect  your 
contingent  within  three  days.  If  you  can  get  more,  the 
surplus  will  be  acceptable.  Keep  these  interesting  rodents 
without  food,  for  it  is  essential  that  the  dear  little  beasts 
should  be  ravenously  hungry.  Observe,  I  include  as  rats, 
mice  and  field-mice.  If  we  multiply  twenty  by  twenty- 
two,  we  shall  have  more  than  four  hundred  accomplices, 
who,  when  turned  out  in  the  old  church  of  the  Ca- 
puchins, where  Fario  has  stored  all  the  seed-corn  he  has  just 
laid  in,  will  consume  a  certain  quantity  of  it.  But  we  must 
look  sharp ! — Fario  is  to  deliver  a  large  parcel  of  seeds  in  a 
week;  now  what  I  want  is  that  my  Spanish  friend,  who  is 
traveling  round  for  orders,  should  find  a  fearful  waste. 

"Gentlemen,  the  merit  of  this  invention  is  not  mine,"  he 
went  on,  noting  signs  of  general  approbation.  "  ^Kender  unto 
Caesar  the  things  which  are  Ca9sar's,  and  unto  God  the  things 
that  are  God's.'  This  is  an  imitation  of  Samson's  foxes  in  the 
Bible.  But  Samson  was  an  incendiary,  and  consequently 
not  a  philanthropist;  while  we,  like  the  Brahmins,  are  the 
protectors  of  a  persecuted  race.  Mademoiselle  Flore  Brazier 
has  already  set  all  her  mouse-traps,  and  Kouski,  my  right 
hand,  is  hunting  field-mice — I  have  spoken." 

"I  know,"  said  Goddet  junior,  "where  to  get  an  animal  as 
good  as  forty  rats  single-handed." 

"What?" 

"A  squirrel/' 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


18) 


"And  I  cnn  contribute  a  small  monkey  who  will  eat  corn 
till  he  bursts/'  said  a  novice. 

"No  good !"  said  Max.  "It  will  be  known  where  the  beasts 
come  from.'' 

"In  the  course  of  the  night,"  said  young  Beaussier,  "we 
might  bring  in  one  pigeon  from  the  pigeon-house  of  each  farm 
in  the  neighborhood,  by  putting  it  through  a  hole  made  in  the 
roof,  and  there  soon  would  be  thousands  of  pigeons." 

"Well,  then,  for  a  week  Fario's  corn-store  is  the  order  of 
the  night,"  said  Gilet,  smiling  at  the  tall  youth  Beaussier 
junior.  "You  know  that  they  are  astir  early  at  Saint-Pa- 
terne.  Mind  no  one  is  to  go  there  without  having  put  the 
soles  of  his  list-shoes  on  hind  part  before.  Our  good  knight 
Beaussier,  the  inventor  of  the  pigeon  trick,  takes  the  command. 
For  my  part,  I  will  take  care  to  leave  my  mark  on  the  grain. 
I  leave  it  to  you  to  be  quarter-masters  general  to  the  forces 
of  ]*ats.  If  the  shop-boy  sleeps  in  the  old  church,  his  com^ 
panions  must  make  him  drunk;  and  do  it  cleverly,  so  as  to 
get  him  far  away  from  the  banquet  to  be  provided  for  the 
rodents." 

"And  you  say  nothing  about  the  Parisians  ?"  asked  Goddet. 

"Oh !"  said  Max,  "they  must  be  studied.  At  the  same 
time,  I  will  give  my  fine  fowling-piece,  that  came  to  me  from 
the  Emperor,  a  first-class  article  from  the  Versailles  factory—  > 
it  is  worth  two  thousand  francs — to  any  one  who  will  hit  upon 
a  plan  for  playing  these  Parisians  some  trick  to  get  them 
into  such  bad  odor  with  Monsieur  and  Madame  Hochon  that 
the  old  folks  should  pack  them  off,  or  that  they  should  go 
of  their  own  accord;  without  causing  too  much  annoyance, 
iiowever,  to  the  ancestors  of  my  good  friends  Frangois  and 
Baruch.'' 

"All  right,  I  will  think  it  over,"  said  young  Goddet,  who  was 
passionately  addicted  to  shooting. 

"And  if  the  inventor  of  the  ploy  does  not  want  the  gun, 
he  may  have  my  horse,"  added  Maxence. 

Thenceforth  twenty  brains  were  vainly  racked  to  concoct 
some  plot  against  Agathe  and  her  son,  in  conformity  with  this 


182 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


programme.  But  the  devil  alone,  or  some  chance,  could  suc- 
ceed ;  the  conditions  of  the  case  made  it  so  difficult. 

Next  morning  Agathe  and  Joseph  came  downstairs  a  min- 
ute before  the  second  breakfast  at  ten  o'clock.  The  meal 
called  the  first  breakfast  consisted  of  a  cup  of  milk  and  a  slice 
of  bread  and  butter,  eaten  in  bed,  or  on  getting  up. 

While  waiting  for  Madame  Hochon,  who,  in  spite  of  old 
age,  carefully  went  through  all  the  ceremonies  employed  in 
their  toilet  by  the  duchesses  of  Louis  XV. 's  reign,  Joseph 
saw,  on  the  threshold  of  the  house  opposite,  Jean-Jacques 
Rouget  standing  squarely  in  the  doorway.  He,  naturally, 
pointed  him  out  to  his  mother,  who  could  not  recognize  her 
brother,  so  little  was  he  like  what  he  had  been  when  they 
parted. 

^^There  is  your  brother,^^  said  Adolphine,  who  had  given  her 
grandmother  her  arm. 

"What  an  idiot  V'  cried  Joseph. 

Agathe  clasped  her  hands  and  looked  up  to  Heaven. 

"What  have  they  brought  him  to  ?  Good  Heavens  !  is  that 
a  man  of  fifty-seven?'^ 

She  wished  to  look  at  him  attentively,  and  then  saw  Flore 
Brazier  come  up  behind  him,  her  hair  dressed  without  a  cap, 
and  displaying,  through  the  gauze  of  a  kerchief  trimmed 
with  lace,  snowy  shoulders  and  a  dazzling  bosom;  she  was 
dressed  as  elaborately  as  a  rich  courtesan,  wearing  a  tightly- 
fitting  gown  of  grenadine — a  silk  stuff  then  very  fashionable 
— with  gigot  sleeves,  and  magnificent  bracelets  on  her  wrists. 
A  gold  chain  meandered  over  the  bodice  of  la  Rabouilleuse, 
who  had  brought  Jean- Jacques  his  black  silk  cap  that  he 
might  not  catch  cold — it  was  evidently  a  got-up  scene. 

"What  a  lovely  woman  cried  Joseph.  "Of  a  rare  kind, 
too  !  Made  to  be  painted,  as  we  say !  What  flesh-tints,  what 
splendid  coloring!  What  a  skin,  what  curves,  and  what 
shoulders!  She  is  a  magnificent  Caryatid!  And  a  perfect 
model  for  a  Titian's  Venus  !" 

To  Adolphine  and  Madame  Hochon  this  might  have  been 
Greek;  but  Agathe,  behind  her  son,  made  a  sign  to  them  as 
much  as  to  say  that  she  was  accustomed  to  this  jargon. 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


183 


"You  think  a  woman  lovely  who  is  robbing  you  of  a  for- 
tune!" exclaimed  Madame  Hochon. 

*'That  does  not  prevent  her  being  a  splendid  model ! 
Exactly  full  enough,  without  the  hips  or  bust  having  become 
coarse  " 

"My  dear,  you  are  not  in  your  studio,"  said  Agathe. 
'Adolphine  is  here  " 

"To  be  sure,  I  beg  pardon;  but,  really,  all  the  way 
from  Paris  along  the  road  I  saw  none  but  apes  " 

"But  my  dear  godmother,"  said  Agathe,  "how  can  I  see 
my  brother  ?    For  if  that  creature  is  with  him  " 

"Pooh !"  said  J oseph.  "I  will  go  to  see  him.  For,  indeed, 
I  don't  think  him  quite  such  an  idiot  if  he  has  wit  enough 
to  gladden  his  eyes  with  a  Venus  worthy  of  Titian." 

"If  he  were  not  an  idiot,"  said  Monsieur  Hochon,  coming 
in,  "he  would  have  married  comfortably,  have  had  a  family, 
and  you  would  have  had  no  chance  at  all  of  his  fortune. 
Some  good  comes  out  of  evil." 

"That  is  a  good  idea  of  your  son's;  he  can  go  first  to  call 
on  his  uncle,"  said  Madame  Hochon.  "He  will  give  him  to 
understand  that  if  you  go  he  must  receive  you  alone." 

"And  so  affront  Mademoiselle  Brazier?"  said  Moj 
Hochon.  "No,  no,  madame.  Put  up  with  this 
you  do  not  get  the  fortune,  try  to  secure  a  le| 

The  Hochons  were  no  match  for  M 
middle  of  breakfast  the  Pole  arriv( 
master.  Monsieur  Rouget,  addre^ 
Bridau. 

Here  is  the  letter  which 
iMnd  read  :- 

1"My  dear  Sister, — 
\   "I  hear  through  sj 
can  guess  the  reas( 
ame  Hochon's  hi 
shall  be  recei: 
first  to  call 


184  A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


to  keep  the  house.  I  offer  you  my  affectionate  respects.  I 
should  be  delighted  to  meet  your  son,  whom  I  shall  hope  to 
see  at  dinner  with  me  to-day,  for  young  men  are  less  precise 
than  women  as  to  the  company  they  meet.  He  will  give  me 
great  pleasure  by  coming  accompanied  by  Messieurs  Baruch 
Borniche  and  Frangois  Hochon. 

"Your  affectionate  brother, 

''J.-J,  Kouget/' 

''Say  that  we  are  at  breakfast,  that  Madame  Bridau  will 
send  an  answer  presently,  and  the  gentlemen  accept  the  in- 
vitation," said  Monsieur  Hochon  to  the  maid.  And  the  old 
man  laid  his  finger  on  his  lip  to  impress  silence  on  all  the 
party. 

When  the  house-door  was  shut.  Monsieur  Hochon,  having 
no  suspicion  of  the  alliance  between  his  grandsons  and  Max- 
ence,  shot  one  of  his  keenest  glances  at  his  wife  and  Agathe. 

"He  no  more  wrote  that,"  said  he,  "than  I  am  able  to  pay 
down  twenty-five  louis. — The  soldier  is  our  correspondent." 

"What  does  it  all  mean?"  said  Madame  Hochon.  "Never 
mind,  we  will  answer  it.    You,  monsieur,"  she  added,  turn- 

the  painter,  "will  dine  there,  I  hope ;  but  if  " 

stopped  short  at  a  look  from  her  husband, 
ith  of  his  wife's  affection  for  Agathe,  old 
should  leave  her  goddaughter  some 
losing  all  the  Eouget  property, 
the  elder,  the  miser  hoped  to 
'  one  day  master  of  everything. 
So  Madame  Hochon  had 
:ract  some  concessions  from 
would  make  a  will, 
pests.  The  Eouget  for- 
fact  enormous;  and 
see  it  in  the  hands 
disreputable  out- 
vied, the  sooner 
wggle,  which 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


till  now  had  been  only  a  scheme  of  his  wife^s,  had  actually 
begun  between  the  rightful  heirs  and  the  unrighteous 
schemers.  Monsieur  Hochon's  mind  had  waked  up  from  the 
sleep  induced  by  provincial  life.  Madame  llochon  was  quite 
agreeably  surprised  when,  that  very  morning,  she  understood, 
from  some  kindly  expression  of  old  Hochon's  with  regard 
to  her  goddaughter,  that  this  competent  and  wily  auxiliary 
was  on  the  side  of  the  Bridaus. 

By  noon  the  combined  talents  of  Monsieur  and  Madame 
Hochon,  of  Agathe  and  Joseph — a  good  deal  surprised  to 
find  the  two  old  people  so  careful  in  their  choice  of  words — 
had  brought  to  birth  the  following  reply  for  the  especial  bene^ 
fit  of  Flore  and  Maxence : — 

"My  dear  Brother, — 

"If  I  have  waited  thirty  years  without  revisiting  this  town, 
or  keeping  up  any  intercourse  with  any  one  in  it,  not  even  with 
you,  the  fault  lies  not  alone  with  the  strange  and  false  ideas  my 
father  had  formed  against  me,  but  partly  with  the  misfortunes 
and  with  the  happiness  of  my  life  in  Paris;  for,  though  God 
made  me  a  happy  wife.  He  has  sorely  stricken  me  as  a  mother. 
You  cannot  but  know  that  my  son,  your  nephew  Philippe, 
lies  under  a  capital  charge  of  treason  in  consequence  of  his 
devotion  to  the  Emperor.  Hence,  you  will  not  be  surprised 
to  hear  that  a  widow,  compelled  to  earn  her  living  by  accept- 
ing a  humble  employment  in  a  lottery  office,  should  have  come 
to  seek  consolation  and  substantial  help  from  those  who  have 
known  her  from  her  birth. 

"The  profession  taken  up  by  the  son  who  is  with  me  is 
one  of  those  which  demand  great  talent,  great  sacrifices,  and 
long  study  before  leading  to  any  success.  Glory  precedes 
fortune  in  this  career.  Is  not  this  as  much  as  to  say  that 
even  if  J oseph  makes  his  name  famous,  he  will  still  be  poor  ? 

"I,  your  sister,  my  dear  Jean- Jacques,  would  have  endured 
in  silence  the  effects  of  our  father's  injustice,  but  forgive  me 
as  a  mother  for  reminding  you  that  you  have  two  nephews — ■ 
one  who  served  on  the  Emperor^s  staff  at  the  battle  of  Men- 


186  A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


tereau,  and  fought  with  the  Imperial  Guard  at  Waterloo,  and 
who  is  now  in  prison ;  the  other  who,  from  the  age  of  thirteen, 
has  been  led  by  a  vocation  into  a  difficult  though  splendid 
career. 

"So  I  thank  you,  my  dear  brother,  with  heartfelt  warmth, 
for  your  letter,  both  on  my  own  account  and  on  Joseph's ;  he 
will  certainly  wait  on  you  at  your  invitation.  Ill  health  ex- 
cuses everything,  my  dear  Jean- Jacques ;  I  will  see  you  in  your 
own  house.  A  sister  is  always  at  home  in  her  brother's  house, 
whatever  life  he  may  choose  to  lead. 

"Accept  my  affectionate  regards, 

"Agathe  Eouget." 

"There,  the  battle  has  begun.  When  you  go  there,"  said 
Itlonsieur  Hochon,  "you  can  speak  plainly  to  him  about  his 
nephews." 

The  letter  was  delivered  by  Gritte,  who  returned  in  ten 
lainutes  to  report  to  her  superiors  all  she  had  been  able  to 
see  or  hear,  as  is  the  custom  in  the  provinces. 

"Madame,"  said  she,  "since  last  evening,  all  that  part  of  the 
house  that  madame  had  left  

"Madame — who  ?"  asked  old  Hochon. 

"Oh,  they  call  la  Kabouilleuse  madame  over  there,"  replied 
Gritte. 

"She  had  left  the  drawing-room  and  everything  that  was 
about  Monsieur  Rouget  in  a  dreadful  state;  but  since  yester- 
day the  house  is  all  to  rights  again,  as  it  was  before  Monsieur 
Maxence  came  there.  You  could  see  yourself  in  everything. 
Vedie  told  me  that  Kouski  was  out  on  horseback  by  six  this 
morning;  he  came  in  about  nine,  bringing  in  provisions. 
Indeed,  there  is  to  be  the  best  of  dinners,  a  dinner  fit  for  the 
Archbishop  of  Bourges.  Little  pans  are  standing  in  big  pans, 
and  everything  in  order  in  the  kitchen.  ^I  mean  to  treat  my 
nephew  handsomely,'  the  old  fellow  said,  and  made  them  tell 
him  all  they  were  doing.  The  Eougets  were  highly  flattered 
by  the  letter,  it  would  seem ;  madame  came  out  to  tell  me  so. 
Oh,  she  is  dressed !    Such  a  dress !    I  never  saw  anything 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


187 


handsomer!  Madame  has  diamonds  in  her  ears — two  dia- 
monds worth  a  thousand  crowns  apiece,  Vedie  told  me — and 
lace !  and  rings  on  her  fingers,  and  bracelets  good  enough  for 
a  shrine,  and  a  silk  gown  fit  for  an  altar-front !  And  then 
says  she  to  me:  ^Monsieur  is  delighted  to  think  his  sister  is 
so  read}^  and  willing,  and  I  hope  she  will  allow  us  to  entertain 
her  as  she  deserves.  And  we  look  forward  to  her  good  opin- 
ion of  us  when  she  hears  how  welcome  we  make  her  son.  And 
monsieur  is  most  impatient  to  see  his  nephew.^ — Madame 
had  little  black  satin  shoes  and  stockings !  Oh,  really  won- 
derful. Like  flowers  on  the  silk,  and  holes  like  lace,  and 
you  see  the  pink  flesh  through.  In  short,  she  is  up  to  the 
nines !  With  such  a  dear  little  apron  in  front  of  her,  that 
Vedie  told  me  that  apron  alone  cost  two  years  of  our 
wages  

"Come,  come,  we  must  get  ourselves  up !"  said  the  artist, 
smiling. 

"Well,  Monsieur  Hochon,  and  what  are  you  thinking 
about  ?"  said  the  old  lady,  when  Gritte  had  left  the  room. 

Madame  Hochon  pointed  to  her  husband  sitting  with  hit? 
head  in  his  hands,  and  his  elbows  on  the  arms  of  his  chair, 
lost  in  thought. 

"You  have  a  Maitre  Benin  to  deal  with,"  said  the  old  man. 
"You,  young  man,  with  your  notions,  are  no  match  in  a 
struggle  with  a  scoundrel  of  such  skill  as  Maxence.  What- 
ever I  may  say,  you  are  sure  to  make  some  blunder;  but,  at 
any  rate,  tell  me  this  evening  all  you  see,  hear,  and  do.  Go — 
and  God  be  with  you !  Try  to  have  a  few  minutes  alone  with 
your  uncle.  If,  in  spite  of  all  you  can  do,  you  fail  in  that, 
it  will  throw  some  light  on  their  scheme ;  but  if  you  are  alone 
with  him  for  one  instant — alone,  without  being  overheard, 
mind  you! — You  must  speak  very  plainly  to  him  as  to  his 
position — which  is  not  a  becoming  one — and  plead  your 
mother's  cause.'' 

At  four  o'clock  Joseph  crossed  the  straits  which  divided  the 
Hochons'  house  from  the  Rougets',  the  avenue  of  sickly  lime- 
trees,  two  hundred  feet  long,  and  as  wide  as  the  Grande 
VOL.  4—39 


188  A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


Narette.  When  the  nephew  appeared,  Kouski,  in  freshly 
blacked  boots,  black  trousers,  white  waistcoat,  and  black  coat, 
led  the  way  to  announce  him. 

The  table  was  ready  laid  in  the  sitting-room,  and  Joseph, 
who  easily  identified  his  uncle,  went  straight  up  to  him  and 
embraced  him,  bowing  to  Flore  and  Maxence. 

"We  have  never  met  since  I  came  into  the  world,  my  dear 
uncle,"  said  the  painter  gaily.    "But  better  late  than  never." 

"You  are  very  welcome,  my  dear  boy,"  said  the  old  man, 
looking  at  his  nephew  with  a  bewildered  air. 

"Madame,"  said  Joseph  to  Flore  with  an  artist's  enthusi- 
asm, "this  morning  I  was  envying  my  uncle  the  pleasure  he 
enjoys  of  admiring  you  every  day." 

"Is  not  she  beautiful?"  said  the  old  man,  his  dull  eyes 
almost  sparkling. 

"Beautiful  enough  to  be  a  painter^s  model." 

"Nephew,"  said  the  old  man,  his  elbow  being  nudged  by 
Flore,  "this  is  Monsieur  Maxence  Gilet,  a  man  who  served 
the  Emperor,  like  your  brother,  in  the  Imperial  Guard." 

Joseph  rose  and  bowed. 

"Your  brother,  I  think,  was  a  dragoon,  and  I  was  only  a 
mud-crusher,"  said  Maxence. 

"On  horseback  or  on  foot,"  observed  Flore,  "you  risked 
your  skin  all  the  same." 

Joseph  studied  Max  as  narrowly  as  Max  studied  Joseph. 
Max  was  dressed  like  the  young  men  of  fashion  of  the  day, 
for  he  had  his  clothes  from  Paris.  A  pair  of  sky-blue  cloth 
trousers,  very  fully  pleated,  made  the  best  of  his  feet  by  show- 
ing only  the  tips  of  his  boots  and  his  spurs.  His  waist  was 
firmly  held  by  a  white  waistcoat  with  fancy,  gold  buttons,  laced 
behind  to  serve  as  a  belt;  this  waistcoat,  buttoning  to  the 
throat,  set  off  his  broad  chest,  and  his  black  satin  stock  obliged 
him  to  hold  his  head  up  like  a  soldier.  His  black  coat  was 
extremely  well  cut.  A  handsome  gold  chain  hung  from  his 
waistcoat  pocket,  where  a  flat  watch  scarcely  showed.  He  was 
playing  with  one  of  the  patent  watch-keys  just  invented  by 
Breguet. 


A  BACHELOri'R  ESTABLISHMENT 


189 


''He  is  a  very  good-looking  fellow !"  said  Joseph  to  himself, 
admiring  as  an  artist  the  face  full  of  life,  the  appearance  of 
strength,  and  the  keen  gray  eyes  inherited  by  Max  from  his 
gentleman  father.  '^J\Iy  uncle  must  be  a  deadly  old  bore, 
and  that  handsome  girl  has  sought  compensation.  It  is  a 
case  of  three  in  a  boat,  that  is  very  clear." 

At  this  moment  Baruch  and  Frangois  came  in. 

"You  have  not  yet  seen  the  Tower  of  Issoudun  ?"  said  Flore 
to  Joseph.  "Well,  if  you  like  to  take  a  little  walk  till  dinner 
is  ready,  which  will  not  be  for  an  hour  yet,  we  will  show  you 
the  great  curiosity  of  the  town  " 

"With  pleasure,"  said  the  artist,  unable  to  discern  the 
smallest  objection. 

While  Flore  was  putting  on  her  bonnet,  her  gloves,  and  her 
cashmere  shawl,  Joseph  suddenly  caught  sight  of  the  pictures, 
and  started  to  his  feet  as  if  some  enchanter  had  touched  him 
with  his  v/and. 

"Ah,  ha!  so  you  have  pictures,  uncle?"  said  he,  looking  at 
the  one  that  had  struck  him. 

"Yes,"  said  the  old  fellov,^,  "they  came  to  me  from  the  Des  - 
coings,  who,  during  the  Revolution,  bought  up  some  of  the 
pickings  of  the  convents  and  churches  of  le  Berry." 

But  Joseph  was  not  listening.  He  went  from  picture  to 
picture. 

"Magnificent!"  he  exclaimed.  "V\^hy,  what  a  fine  thing! 
That  man  did  not  spoil  canvas.  Bless  me,  why,  better  and 
better ;  as  we  see  them  at  Nicolet's  " 

"There  are  seven  or  eight  more,  very  large  ones,  in  the  loft, 
that  were  kept  for  the  sake  of  the  frames,"  said  Gilet. 

"Let  me  see  them,"  cried  the  artist,  and  Maxence  took  him 
to  the  loft. 

Joseph  came  down  in  raptures.  Max  said  a  word  in  la 
Rabouilleuse's  ear,  and  she  led  the  old  man  to  the  window; 
Joseph  caught  these  words  spoken  in  an  undertone,  but  still 
so  that  he  could  hear  them : 

"Your  nephew  is  a  painter ;  5^ou  can  do  nothing  with  these 
pictures.    Be  good-natured,  and  give  them  to  him." 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


"It  would  seem,"  said  Kouget,  leaning  on  Flore's  arm,  and 
coming  to  the  spot  where  his  nephew  stood  in  ecstasies  before 
an  Albano, — "it  would  seem  that  you  are  a  painter  " 

"Only  a  smudger  as  yet/'  said  Joseph. 

"Whatever  is  that?"  said  Flore. 

"A  beginner/'  said  Joseph. 

"Well,"  said  J ean- J acques,  "if  these  pictures  can  be  of  any 
use  to  you  in  your  business,  I  will  give  them  to  you.  .  .  . 
But  without  the  frames.  The  frames  are  gilt,  and  then  they 
are  quaint;  I  will  put  " 

"Why,  of  course,  uncle/'  cried  Joseph,  enchanted,  "you 
will  put  copies  into  them,  which  I  will  send  you,  and  which 
shall  be  of  the  same  size." 

"But  that  will  take  time,  and  you  will  want  canvas  and 
paints,"  said  Flore.  "It  will  cost  you  money.  Come,  Pere 
Kouget,  suppose  you  offer  your  nephew  a  hundred  francs  for 
each  picture;  there  are  twenty-seven  here,  and  I  think  there 
are  eleven  more  in  the  loft,  which  are  enormous,  and  ought  to 
cost  double — say  four  thousand  francs  for  the  lot.  Yes,  your 
uncle  may  very  well  spend  four  thousand  francs  on  the  copies, 
since  he  is  to  keep  the  frames.  You  will  have  to  get  frames 
too,  and  they  say  the  frames  cost  more  than  the  pict- 
ures; there  is  gold  on  them.  ...  I  say,  monsieur," 
Flore  went  on,  shaking  the  old  man's  arm,  "listen,  that  is  not 
dear:  your  nephew  will  charge  you  four  thousand  francs  for 
quite  new  pictures  in  the  place  of  your  old  ones.  ...  It 
is  a  civil  way  of  making  him  a  present  of  the  money,"  said  she 
in  his  ear.    "He  does  not  strike  me  as  being  very  flush  " 

"Very  well,  nephew,  I  will  pay  you  four  thousand  francs 
for  the  copies  " 

"No,  no/'  said  Joseph  honestly.  "Four  thousand  francs 
and  the  pictures  is  too  much ;  for  the  pictures,  you  see,  are  of 
value." 

"Why,  accept  it,  booby/'  said  Flore,  "since  he  is  your 
uncle    .    .  ." 

"Very  well,  I  accept  it/'  said  Joseph,  quite  bewildered, 
for  he  had  recognized  one  picture  as  by  Perugino. 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


161 


So  the  artist  looked  quite  gleeful  as  he  went  out,  giving 
his  arm  to  la  Rabouilleuse,  which  perfectly  suited  Max's  pur- 
pose. Neither  Floie,  nor  Rouget,  nor  Max,  nor  any  one  at 
Issoudun  had  any  idea  of  the  value  of  the  pictures,  and  the 
wily  Max  believed  that  he  had  purchased  very  cheaply  Flore's 
triumph  as  she  marched  proudly  arm  in  arm  with  her  master's 
nephew,  on  the  best  possible  terms  with  him,  in  the  eyes  of  the 
astonished  townsfolk.  People  came  to  their  doors  to  see  the 
victory  of  la  Rabouilleuse  over  the  family.  This  astounding 
fact  made  the  deep  sensation  on  which  Max  had  built  his 
hopes.  So  when  the  uncle  and  nephew  went  in  at  about  five, 
the  talk  in  every  household  was  of  the  perfect  alliance  be- 
tween Flore  and  Max  and  Pere  Rouget's  nephew.  And  the 
story  of  the  gift  of  the  pictures  and  the  four  thousand  francB 
was  all  over  the  town  already. 

The  dinner,  to  which  Lousteau,  one  of  the  judges,  and  the 
Mayor  of  Issoudun,  was  invited,  was  really  splendid;  it  wai^ 
one  of  the  country  meals  which  last  five  hours.  The  finest 
wines  gave  spirit  to  the  conversation.  Over  the  dessert,  at 
nine  o'clock,  the  painter,  seated  between  Flore  and  Max,  op- 
posite  his  uncle,  was  almost  hail-fellow  with  the  officer,  whom 
he  thought  the  best  of  good  souls.  At  eleven  o'clock  Joseph 
went  home,  a  little  screwed.  As  to  old  Rouget,  Kouski  carried 
him  to  bed  dead  drunk;  he  had  eaten  like  a  traveling  actor,  anc\ 
drunk  like  the  sands  of  the  desert. 

"Well,  now,"  said  Max,  left  alone  with  Flore,  "is  not  this 
better  than  sulking  with  them?  The  Bridaus  are  well  re- 
ceived; they  will  get  some  little  presents,  and,  loaded  with 
favors,  they  can  only  sing  our  praises;  they  will  go  quietly 
away,  and  leave  us  quietly  where  we  are.  To-morrow  morn- 
ing Kouski  and  I  between  us  will  take  out  all  those  pictures, 
and  send  them  over  for  the  painter  to  see  them  when  he  wakes ; 
we  will  put  the  frames  in  the  loft,  and  have  the  room  repapered 
with  one  of  those  varnished  papers,  with  scenes  on  it  from 
Telemaque,  such  as  I  saw  at  Monsieur  Mouilleron's." 

"Why,  that  will  be  ever  so  much  nrettier !"  cried  Flore. 


192  A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


Joseph  did  not  wake  till  noon  next  day.  From  his  bed  he 
saw  the  pictures  leaning  one  above  another,  having  been 
brought  in  without  his  hearing  anything.  While  he  was  ex- 
amining them  afresh,  and  recognizing  them  as  masterpieces, 
studying  the  handling  of  each  master,  or  finding  their  sig- 
natures, his  m^other  went  to  thank  her  brother  and  to  see  him, 
urged  to  do  so  by  old  Hochon,  who,  knowing  all  the  blunders 
committed  by  Joseph  the  evening  before,  despaired  of  the 
Bridaus'  prospects. 

"You  have  to  deal  with  two  very  sharp  customers.  In  all 
my  life  I  never  met  with  so  sly  a  fox  as  that  soldier.  War  is  the 
making  of  these  youths,  it  would  seem.  Joseph  walked  into 
the  trap.  He  appeared  arm  in  arm  with  la  Eabouilleuse. 
They  have  shut  his  mouth,  no  doubt,  with  wine,  some  rubbishy 
pictures,  and  four  thousand  francs.  Your  artist  has  not  cost 
Maxence  dear.'' 

The  cunning  old  man  had  laid  down  a  line  of  conduct  for 
his  wife's  goddaughter,  instructing  her  to  seem  to  agree  with 
Maxence  and  cajole  Flore,  so  as  to  become  to  some  extent 
familiar  with  her,  and  obtain  a  few  minutes'  talk  alone  with 
her  brother.  Madame  Bridau  v/as  very  well  received  by  Jean- 
J acques,  tutored  by  Flore.  The  old  man  was  in  bed,  ill  from 
the  excesses  of  the  previous  evening.  As  Agathe  could  not 
attack  him  on  serious  questions  at  the  very  first  moment.  Max 
had  thought  it  correct  and  handsome  to  leave  the  brother  and 
sister  to  themselves.  He  had  calculated  judiciously.  Poor 
x\gathe  found  her  brother  so  ill  that  she  would  not  deprive 
him  of  Mademoiselle  Brazier's  attentions. 

"Besides,"  she  said  to  the  old  man,  "I  should  wish  to  know 
the  person  to  whom  I  am  indebted  for  my  brother's  happi- 
ness." 

These  words  gave  the  poor  fellow  evident  pleasure ;  he  rang 
and  sent  for  Madame  Brazier.  Flore,  as  may  be  supposed, 
was  not  far  off.  The  female  antagonists  exchanged  salutes. 
La  Eabouilleuse  displayed  the  most  obsequious  care,  the 
tenderest  attentions;  she  thought  monsieur's  head  was  too 
low,  and  rearranged  the  pillows;  she  was  like  a  wife  of  yester- 
day.   And  the  old  man  overflowed  with  emotion. 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


193 


"We  owe  you  mucli  gratitude,  mademoiselle/^  said  Agathe, 
"for  all  the  marks  of  attachment  you  have  so  long  given  to 
my  brother,  and  for  the  care  with  which  you  provide  for  his 
happiness/^ 

"It  is  very  true,  my  dear  Agathe/'  said  the  old  man,  "she 
made  me  first  know  happiness;  and  she  is  a  woman  full  of 
admirable  qualities." 

"And  so,  brother,  you  cannot  reward  her  too  highly;  you 
ought  to  have  made  her  your  wife.  Yes !  I  am  too  religious 
a  woman  not  to  wish  that  I  might  see  you  obey  the  precepts 
of  religion.  You  would  both  be  the  happier  if  you  were  not 
at  war  with  law  and  morality.  I  came  here,  my  dear  brother, 
to  appeal  for  help  in  very  great  trouble;  but  do  not  imagine 
that  we  intended  to  make  the  slightest  remarks  on  the  way  in 
which  you  may  dispose  of  your  fortune." 

"Madame,"  said  Flore,  "v/e  know  that  your  father  was  un- 
just to  you.  Your  brother  can  tell  you,"  she  added,  staring 
hard  at  her  victim,  "that  the  only  quarrels  we  have  ever  had, 
he  and  I,  have  been  about  you.  I  tell  monsieur  that  he  owes 
you  part  of  the  fortune  of  which  you  were  robbed  by  my  poor 
benefactor — for  he  was  my  benefactor,  your  father  was,"  and 
she  put  on  a  tearful  voice,  "and  I  shall  never  forget  him — ^bui; 
your  brother,  madame,  has  listened  to  reason  " 

"Yes,"  said  old  Rouget,  "when  I  make  my  will,  you  will  not 
be  forgotten  " 

"We  will  not  talk  of  that,  brother ;  you  do  not  know  yet  whai; 
my  character  is  " 

From  these  beginnings  the  upshot  of  this  first  visit  may  be 
imagined.  Eouget  invited  his  sister  to  dinner  for  the  nexl; 
day  but  one. 

During  these  three  days  the  Knights  of  Idlesse  caught  aiA 
enormous  number  of  rats,  mice,  and  field-mice,  which  were 
turned  out  starving  one  fine  night  among  the  seed-corn,  to 
the  number  of  four  hundred  and  thirty-six,  among  them 
many  mothers  with  young.  Not  satisfied  with  having  quar- 
tered these  pensioners  on  Fario,  the  Knights  made  some  holes 
in  the  roof  of  the  old  chapel,  and  put  in  ten  pigeons  brought 


194 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


from  ten  different  farmsteads.  The  creatures  held  high 
festival,  with  all  the  greater  freedom  because  Fario's  boy  was 
led  away  by  another  young  rascal,  with  whom  he  drank  from 
morning  till  night,  taking  no  care  whatever  of  his  master's 
merchandise. 

Madame  Bridau,  in  opposition  to  old  Hochon's  opinion, 
believed  that  her  brother  had  not  yet  made  his  will ;  she  pur- 
posed asking  him  what  his  intentions  were  with  regard  to 
Mademoiselle  Brazier,  on  the  first  opportunity  she  might  find 
of  taking  a  walk  with  him  alone;  for  Max  and  Flore  con- 
stantly beguiled  her  with  this  hope,  which  was  always  deceived. 

Though  the  Knights  of  the  Order  all  tried  to  hit  on  a 
scheme  for  putting  the  two  Parisians  to  flight,  they  devised 
nothing  but  impossible  follies. 

Hence  at  the  end  of  a  week,  half  of  the  time  the  Bridaus 
were  to  spend  in  Issoudun,  they  were  no  further  forward  than 
on  the  first  day. 

"Your  lawyer  does  not  know  what  a  country  town  is,"  said 
old  Hochon  to  Madame  Bridau.  "What  you  came  here  to  do 
cannot  be  done  in  fourteen  days,  nor  in  fourteen  months.  You 
would  have  to  be  constantly  with  your  brother,  and  instil  into 
him  some  ideas  of  religion.  You  can  only  undermine  the 
fortress  guarded  by  Flore  and  Maxence  by  sapping  it  through 
a  priest.  That  is  my  opinion,  and  it  is  high  time  you  should 
act  on  it.'' 

"You  have  strange  ideas  of  the  priesthood,"  said  Madame 
Hochon  to  her  husband. 

"Oh!"  cried  the  old  man.  "There  you  are,  you  godly 
people !" 

"God  will  not  bless  any  endeavor  that  is  based  on  sacrilege," 
said  Madame  Bridau.  "To  make  use  of  religion  for  such 
a   Oh !    We  should  be  worse  than  Flore  !" 

This  conversation  took  place  at  breakfast,  and  Frangois 
and  Baruch  both  listened  with  open  ears. 

"Sacrilege !"  cried  old  Hochon.  "But  if  some  good  Abbe, 
as  clever  as  some  I  have  known,  understood  the  predicament 
in  which  you  stand,  he  vv^ould  not  regard  it  as  sacrilege  to  lead 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


195 


home  to  God  your  brother's  erring  soul,  to  bring  him  to  true 
repentance  for  his  sins,  to  persuade  him  to  send  away  the 
woman  who  is  the  cause  of  the  scandal — providing  for  her, 
of  course — to  point  out  to  him  that  his  conscience  would  rest 
in  peace  if  he  only  left  a  few  thousand  francs  a  year  to  the 
Archbishop's  little  Seminary,  and  the  remainder  of  his  for- 
tune to  his  legitimate  heirs." 

The  passive  obedience  exacted  by  the  old  miser  from  his 
children,  and  handed  down  to  his  grandchildren,  who  had  in- 
deed been  left  to  his  guardianship,  and  for  whom  he  was  amass- 
ing a  large  fortune — doing  by  them,  he  was  wont  to  say,  as  he 
would  do  by  himself — did  not  allow  of  the  faintest  sign  of 
astonishment  or  disapproval  on  the  part  of  Baruch  and 
Frangois ;  but  they  exchanged  glances  full  of  meaning,  telling 
each  other  how  fatal  this  idea  would  be  to  Max's  interests. 

"The  truth  is,  madame,"  said  Baruch,  "if  you  wish  to  in- 
herit your  brother's  property,  the  only  real  way  is  this — you 
must  remain  at  Issoudun  as  long  as  is  necessary  to  employ 
him  " 

"Mother,"  Joseph  put  in,  "you  will  do  well  to  write  all  this 
to  Desroches.  For  my  part,  I  look  for  nothing  more  from  my 
uncle  than  what  he  has  so  kindly  given  me." 

After  assuring  himself  of  the  great  value  of  the  thirty-nine 
pictures,  Joseph  had  carefully  unmounted  the  canvases,  had 
pasted  paper  over  them,  laid  them  one  over  another  flat  in  a 
huge  case,  and  addressed  it  by  carrier  to  Desroches,  to  whom 
he  meant  to  send  a  letter  of  advice.  This  precious  load  had 
been  sent  off  the  day  before. 

"You  are  cheaply  paid  off,"  said  Monsieur  Hoehon. 

"But  I  shall  have  no  difficulty  in  getting  a  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  francs  for  the  pictures,"  said  Joseph. 

"A  painter's  notion !"  said  Monsieur  Hochon,  looking  dubi- 
ously at  Joseph. 

"Listen,"  said  Joseph,  turning  to  his  mother,  "I  am  going 
to  write  to  Desroches  and  explain  the  state  of  affairs  here.  If 
he  advises  you  to  stay,  you  shall  stay.  As  to  your  place  in  the 
office,  we  can  always  find  something  else  as  good  


196 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


"My  dear  boy/'  said  Madame  Hochon,  as  they  rose  from 
table,  "I  do  not  know  what  your  uncle's  pictures  may  be,  but 
they  ought  to  be  good,  judging  by  the  places  they  came  from. 
If  they  are  worth  even  forty  thousand  francs,  a  thousand 
francs  apiece,  tell  nobody.  Though  my  grandchildren  are 
discreet  and  well  brought  up,  they  might,  without  meaning 
any  mischief,  talk  about  this  supposed  treasure-trove;  all  Is- 
soudun  would  hear  of  it,  and  the  foe  must  not  suspect  the. 
truth.    You  really  behave  like  a  child  I" 

In  point  of  fact,  by  midday  many  persons  in  Issoudun,  and 
foremost  of  all  Maxence  Gilet,  had  been  informed  of  Joseph's 
opinion,  which  led  to  a  great  hunt  for  old  pictures  that  had 
lain  forgotten,  and  to  the  disinterment  of  some  execrable 
daubs.  Max  repented  of  having  prompted  the  old  man  to 
give  away  the  pictures ;  and  his  rage  against  the  rightful  heirs, 
on  learning  old  Hochon's  scheme,  was  increased  by  what  he 
called  his  stupidity.  Keligious  influence  on  this  feeble  crea- 
ture was  the  only  thing  to  be  dreaded.  Hence  the  warning 
given  him  by  his  two  allies  confirmed  Max  in  his  determina- 
tion to  realize  all  Eouget's  mortgages,'  and  to  borrow  on  his 
land  so  as  to  invest  in  State  securities  at  once.  But  he  con- 
sidered the  necessity  for  getting  rid  of  the  Parisians  as  even 
more  pressing.  Now  the  talents  of  a  Mascarille  or  a  Scapin 
would  have  found  this  a  hard  problem  to  solve. 

Flore,  counseled  by  Max,  began  to  say  that  monsieur  tired 
himself  too  much  by  taking  walks ;  that  at  his  age  he  needed 
carriage  exercise.  This  was  necessary  as  a  pretext  for  the 
expeditions  to  be  made,  without  the  neighbors  knowing  it,  to 
Bourges,  Vierzon,  Chateauroux,  and  Vatan,  wherever  this 
scheme  for  calling  in  his  investments  might  require  that 
Eouget,  Max,  and  Flore  should  go.  So  by  the  end  of  the  v/eek 
all  Issoudun  was  startled  by  the  news  that  Pere  Eouget  had 
sent  to  Bourges  for  a  carriage,  a  step  which  the  Knights  of 
Idlesse  interpreted  in  favor  of  la  Eabouilleuse.  Flore  and  Max 
purchased  a  hideous  traveling-chaise  with  rickety  windows? 
and  a  split  leather  hood,  that  had  seen  two-and-twenty  years^ 
and  nine  campaigns ;  this  they  bought  at  a  sale  on  the  death 


A  BACHELOIi'S  I<:STABLISHMENT 


107 


of  a  colonel,  a  great  friend  of  Marshal  Bcrtrand^s,  who,  during 
the  absence  of  the  Emperor's  faithful  follower,  had  under- 
taken the  charge  of  his  estates  in  le  Berry.  This  vehicle, 
painted  dark-green,  v/as  not  unlike  a  barouche,  but  the  pole 
had  been  altered  and  shafts  subsiitutod,  so  that  it  could  be 
drawn  by  one  horse.  It  was  now  one  of  those  carriages  which 
reduced  fortunes  have  made  so  fashionable,  which,  indeed, 
were  honestly  designated  as  demi-f  or  tunes,  for  they  were 
originally  called  seringues.  The  lining  of  this  demi-f ortune, 
sold  as  a  barouche,  was  moth-eaten;  the  trimmings  were  like 
a  pensioner's  stripes;  it  rattled  like  old  iron;  but  it  cost  no 
more  than  four  hundred  and  fifty  francs,  and  Max  bought 
of  the  troops  in  garrison  at  Bourges  a  strong,  well-broken 
mare  to  draw  it.  He  had  this  vehicle  repainted  dark-brown, 
and  found  a  fairly  good  set  of  second-hand  harness,  and  the 
town  of  Issoudun  was  agitated  from  top  to  bottom,  on  the 
watch  for  Pere  Eouget's  ^*^turn-out." 

The  first  time  the  good  m.an  made  use  of  his  barouche  the 
noise  brought  every  household  to  the  front  door,  and  all  the 
windows  were  full  of  peeping  heads.  The  second  time  he 
drove  as  far  as  Bourges,  where,  to  avoid  all  further  trouble 
in  connection  with  the  transactions,  advised — or,  if  you  will, 
commanded — by  Flore  Brazier,  he  signed  in  the  notary's  office 
a  power  of  attorney  in  favor  of  Maxence  Gilet,  enabling  him 
to  transfer  all  the  moneys  m.entioned  in  the  document.  Flore 
undertook  to  settle  v/ith  monsieur  as  to  the  loans  in  Issoudun 
and  the  immediate  neighborhood.  Eouget  went  to  the  first 
notary  in  Bourges  and  desired  him  to  find  him  a  hundred  and 
forty  thousand  francs  on  the  security  of  his  land. 

No  one  at  Issoudun  knew  anything  about  these  proceed- 
ings, so  quietly  and  cleverly  carried  out.  Max,  a  good  horse= 
m.an,  could  get  to  Bourges  and  back  between  five  in  the  morn- 
ing and  five  in  the  afternoon  on  his  horse,  and  Flore  never 
left  the  old  man.  Old  Rouget  had  consented  without  demur 
to  the  alterations  which  Flore  had  suggested  to  him;  but  he 
insisted  that  the  bond  bearing  fifty  thousand  francs  a  year 
interest  should  stand  as  life-interest  only  in  Mademoiselle 


198 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


Brazier's  name,  and  that  the  capital  should  remain  his  abso- 
lutely. The  tenacity  displayed  by  the  old  man  in  the  private 
struggle  which  arose  over  this  question  made  Max  very  un- 
easy, for  he  fancied  he  could  discern  in  it  some  reflections 
inspired  by  the  sight  of  his  natural  heirs. 

In  the  midst  of  these  great  changes,  which  Max  hoped  to 
conceal  from  the  prying  townsfolk,  he  forgot  the  corn-dealer. 
Fario  was  preparing  to  deliver  his  orders,  after  much  travel-' 
ing  and  bargaining,  with  a  view  to  raise  the  price  of  seed- 
corn.  But  the  day  after  his  return  to  Issoudun,  living  op- 
posite the  Capuchin  chapel,  he  saw  the  roof  black  with  pigeons. 
He  cursed  himself  for  having  neglected  to  examine  the  roof, 
and  hastily  went  across  to  his  store-house,  where  he  found 
half  his  corn  devoured.  Myriads  of  traces  left  by  mice,  rats, 
and  field-mice  betrayed  another  cause  of  the  ruin.  The  church 
was  a  perfect  Noah's  ark.  But  the  Spaniard  turned  as  white 
as  linen  with  fury  when,  on  trying  to  calculate  the  extent  of  the 
loss  and  damage,  he  discovered  that  the  lower  strata  of  grain 
were  soaked  and  sprouting,  from  a  quantity  of  water  having 
been  injected  into  the  heart  of  the  corn-heaps  by  means  of  a 
tin  tube — an  idea  of  Max's.  Pigeons  and  rats  might  be  ac- 
counted for  by  animal  instinct;  but  in  this  last  piece  of 
malice  the  hand  of  man  was  evident. 

Fario  sat  down  on  an  altar-step  in  a  side  chapel,  and  hid 
his  head  in  his  hands.  After  half  an  hour's  meditations — 
a  Spaniard's  meditations — on  looking  up,  he  saw  the  squirrel 
which  young  Goddet  had  insisted  on  placing  there  as  boarder, 
playing  with  its  tail  on  the  transom  supporting  the  roof- 
beam.  The  Spaniard  rose  calmly,  showing  his  shop-clerk  a 
face  as  impassive  as  an  Arab's.  Fario  made  no  lamentation. 
He  went  home,  found  some  laborers  to  pack  the  good  corn, 
and  spread  what  was  damp  in  the  sun  to  dry,  so  as  to  save  as 
much  as  possible;  then  he  set  to  work  to  deliver  his  orders, 
calculating  the  loss  at  three-fifths.  But  as  his  own  trans- 
actions had  sent  prices  up,  he  lost  again  in  repurchasing  those 
three-fifths ;  thus  his  total  loss  was  of  more  than  half. 

The  corn-dealer^  who  had  no  enemies,  unerringly  attributed 


A  BACHELOK'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


109 


this  piece  of  revenge  to  Gilet.  It  was  clear  to  him  that  Max 
and  some  others,  the  inventors  of  so  many  nocturnal  pranks, 
had  undoubtedly  dragged  his  cart  up  to  the  tower,  and  amused 
themselves  by  ruining  him ;  his  loss,  indeed,  amounted  to  a 
thousand  crowns,  almost  all  the  capital  he  had  laboriously 
accumulated  since  the  peace.  Inspired  by  the  hope  of  revenge, 
the  man  put  forth  all  the  perseverance  and  acumen  of  a  spy 
who  has  been  promised  a  handsome  reward.  Lurking  in  am- 
bush by  night  in  the  town,  he  obtained  absolute  proof  of  the 
proceedings  of  the  Knights  of  Idlesse ;  he  saw  them,  he  counted 
them;  he  watched  their  trysts,  and  their  suppers  at  la  Co- 
gnette's;  then  he  hid  himself  to  witness  one  of  their  tricks, 
and  became  familiar  with  their  nocturnal  doings. 

In  spite  of  his  rides  and  his  anxieties.  Max  would  not 
neglect  this  business  of  the  night ;  in  the  first  place,  to  prevent 
any  one  suspecting  the  grand  financial  operations  carried  on 
with  Pere  Rouget's  investments;  and,  in  the  second  place,  to 
keep  his  friends  up  to  the  mark.  Now  the  Order  had  agreed 
to  achieve  a  stroke  which  should  be  talked  of  for  years.  On  a 
certain  night  every  watch-dog  in  the  town  and  suburbs  was  to 
have  a  pill  of  poison.  Fario  overheard  them  as  they  came  out 
of  la  Cognette's,  chuckling  beforehand  over  the  success  of  this 
practical  joke,  and  the  universal  mourning  to  be  caused  by 
this  massacre  of  the  innocents.  Besides,  what  fears  this 
general  execi^  Jon  would  give  rise  to,  by  hinting  at  sinistei' 
designs  on  the  houses  thus  deprived  of  their  guardians ! 

"Fario's  cart  will  be  quite  forgotten  perhaps,"  said  Goddet. 

Fario  no  longer  needed  this  speech  to  confirm  his  suspicions ; 
besides,  he  had  laid  his  plans. 

After  a  stay  of  three  weeks,  Agathe,  like  Madame  Hochon, 
recognized  the  truth  of  the  old  miser's  views — it  would  take 
years  to  counteract  the  influence  exerted  over  her  brother  by 
la  Rabouilleuse  and  Max.  Agathe  had  made  no  progress  in 
Jean- Jacques'  confidence;  she  had  never  been  left  alone  with 
him.  On  the  contrary,  Mademoiselle  Brazier  triumphed  over 
the  heirs  by  taking  Agathe  out  driving  in  the  carriage,  seated 


200 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTA^ISHMBNT 


by  her  on  the  back  seat,  while  Monsieur  Eouget  and  his  nephew 
sat  in  front.  Mother  and  son  anxiously  awaited  a  reply  to 
their  confidential  letter  to  Desroches. 

On  the  very  eve  of  the  da}^  when  the  watch-dogs  were  to  be 
poisoned,  Joseph,  who  was  dying  of  weariness  at  Issoudun, 
received  two  letters — one  from  Schinner,  the  great  painter, 
whose  age  allowed  of  a  closer  and  more  intimate  acquaint- 
ance than  with  Gros,  their  master,  and  the  other  from  Des- 
roches. This  was  the  first,  bearing  the  stamp  of  Beaumont- 
&ur-Oise : — 

"My  dear  Joseph, — I  have  finished  the  most  important 
paintings  in  the  Chateau  de  Presles  for  the  Comte  de  Serizy. 
I  have  left  the  borders  and  decorative  panels;  and  I  have  so 
{Strongly  recommended  you  to  the  Count,  and  to  Grindot,  his 
architect,  that  you  have  only  to  pack  up  your  brushes  and 
come.  The  prices  agreed  on  will  satisfy  you.  I  am  off  to 
Italy  with  my  wife,  so  you  can  have  Mistigris  to  help  you. 
The  young  rascal  is  clever;  I  place  him  at  your  service.  He 
is  as  lively  as  a  Pierrot  already  at  the  idea  of  enjoying  himself 
at  Presles.  Farev/ell,  my  dear  Joseph ;  if  I  am  away  and  send 
nothing  to  the  next  Salon,  you  must  fill  my  place.  Yes,  dear 
Jojo,  your  picture  is  a  masterpiece,  I  am  sure  of  it;  but  a 
masterpiece  that  will  raise  a  hue  and  cry  of  ^Romanticism!' 
and  you  are  preparing  a  life  for  yourself  like  that  of  the  devil 
in  holy  water.  But,  after  all,  as  that  rogue  Mistigris  says — 
he  transposes  or  puns  on  every  proverb — life  is  bad  to  beat. 
What  on  earth  are  you  doing  at  Issoudun?  Farewell. — 
Your  friend, 

"SCHINNER." 

This  was  Desroches'  letter: — 

"My  DEAR  Joseph, — Your  Monsieur  Hochon  seems  to  me 
an  old  man  of  great  good  sense,  and  you  give  me  a  high  idea 
of  his  intelligence ;  he  is  perfectly  right.  And,  since  you  ask 
my  opinion,  I  think  your  mother  should  stay  at  Issoudun 


A  BACIIPILOK'S  KSTAP.)V[P,Il>.fKNT 


201 


with  Madame  Hochon,  paying  a  small  sum,  say  four  hundred 
francs  a  year,  as  compensation  for  her  board.  Madame 
Bridau,  I  should  say,  should  be  entirely  guided  by  Monsieur 
Hochon's  advice.  But  your  excellent  mother  will  be  full  of 
scruples  in  opposition  to  people  who  have  none,  and  whose  con- 
duct shows  a  masterly  policy.  That  Maxence  is  a  dangerous 
fellow,  you  are  right  there ;  he  is  a  man  of  far  stronger  temper 
than  Philippe.  This  rascal  makes  his  vices  serve  his  for= 
iunes;  he  does  not  amuse  himself  for  nothing,  like  your 
brother,  whose  frolics  were  never  of  any  use.  All  you  tell 
me  appalls  me,  for  I  could  not  do  much  by  going  to  Issoudun. 
Monsieur  Hochon,  acting  through  your  mother,  will  be  of 
more  use  than  I  can  be. 

"As  for  you,  you  may  as  well  come  home;  you  are  of  no 
good  at  all  in  a  business  requiring  constant  alertness,  minute 
observation,  servile  attentions,  discretion  in  speech,  and  dis- 
simulation in  looks, — all  quite  antipathetic  to  an  artist.  li' 
they  tell  you  there  is  no  will,  they  have  had  one  made  a  long 
time  since,  you  may  be  sure.  But  wills  are  not  irrevocable; 
and  as  long  as  your  imbecile  uncle  lives,  he  will  certainly  be 
open  to  the  influence,  of  remorse  and  religion.  Your  fortune 
will  be  the  result  of  a  pitched  battle  between  the  Church  and 
la  Eabouilleuse.  A  moment  will  inevitably  come  when  that 
woman  will  lose  her  power  over  the  old  man,  and  religion  will 
be  all-powerful.  So  long  as  your  uncle  has  made  nothing 
over  to  them  by  deed  of  gift,  nor  altered  his  investments  and 
holdings,  at  the  moment  when  religion  gets  the  upper  hand 
everything  will  be  possible. 

"You  had  better  beg  Monsieur  Hochon  to  keep  an  eye  as 
far  as  possible  on  your  uncle's  possessions.  It  is  important  to 
ascertain  whether  he  holds  mortgages,  and  how  and  in  whose 
name  the  deeds  are  drawn.  It  is  so  easy  to  fill  an  old  man 
with  fears  for  his  life  when  he  is  stripping  himself  of  his 
property  in  favor  of  strangers,  that  a  rightful  heir  with  a 
very  little  cunning  can  nip  such  spoliations  in  the  bud.  But 
is  your  mother,  with  her  ignorance  of  the  world,  her  dis- 
interestedness, and  her  religious  ideas,  a  likely  person  ta 
manage  such  an  intrigue  ? 


202  A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


"In  short,  I  can  only  explain  the  position.  What  you  have 
done  so  far  must  have  given  the  alarm,  and  perhaps  your 
antagonists  are  taking  steps  to  protect  themselves." 

"That  is  what  I  call  sound  advice,  kindly  given!"  cried 
Monsieur  Hochon,  proud  of  finding  himself  appreciated  by  a 
Paris  attorney. 

"Oh,  Desroches  is  a  capital  good  fellow,"  said  Joseph. 

"It  might  be  useful  to  show  that  letter  to  the  two  women," 
said  the  old  man. 

"Here  it  is,"  said  Joseph,  giving  the  letter  to  Hochon.  "As 
for  me,  I  will  be  off  to-morrow,  and  will  go  to  take  leave  of 
my  uncle." 

"Ah!"  said  Monsieur  Hochon,  "I  see  that  in  a  postscript 
Monsieur  Desroches  desires  you  to  burn  the  letter." 

"Burn  it  after  showing  it  to  my  mother,"  said  the  painter. 

Joseph  Bridau  dressed,  crossed  the  little  avenue,  and  was 
shown  in  to  his  uncle,  who  was  just  finishing  breakfast. 
Max  and  Flore  were  at  table  with  him. 

"Do  not  disturb  yourself,  my  dear  uncle;  I  have  come  to 
lake  leave  of  you." 

"You  are  going  ?"  said  Max  with  a  look  at  Flore. 

"Yes,  I  have  some  work  to  do  at  Monsieur  de  Serizy's 
(jhateau,  and  I  am  all  the  more  eager  because  he  has  a  long 
vmough  arm  to  be  of  service  to  my  poor  brother  with  the 
Supreme  Court." 

"Well,  well;  work,"  said  the  old  man,  with  a  stupid  look, 
and  indeed  Rouget  seemed  to  Joseph  extraordinarily  altered. 
"You  must  work.    I  am  sorry  you  are  going  " 

"Oh,  my  mother  will  remain  some  time  yet,"  replied 
J  oseph. 

Max  gave  his  lips  a  twist,  which  conveyed  to  the  house- 
keeper, "They  are  going  to  act  on  the  plan  Baruch  spoke  of." 

"I  am  very  glad  I  came,"  Joseph  went  on,  "for  I  have  haa 
the  pleasure  of  making  your  acquaintance,  and  you  have  en- 
riched my  studio." 

'*Yes^  indeed !"  said  la  Eabouilleuse,  "instead  of  enlighten* 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT  203 


ing  your  uncle  as  to  the  value  of  the  pictures,  which  is  said  to 
be  more  than  a  hundred  thousand  francs,  you  packed  them 
off  to  Paris  pretty  quick.  Poor,  dear  man,  he  is  like  a 
child.  .  .  .  Why,  I  have  just  been  told  that  there  is  at 
Bourges  a  little  Poulet — I  mean  a  Poussin — which  was  in  the 
Cathedral  before  the  Kevolution,  and  that  alone  is  worth 
thirty  thousand  francs.'^ 

^^That  was  not  right,  nephew,"  said  the  old  man,  at  a  nod 
from  Max,  which  Joseph  could  not  see. 

"Come  now,  honestly/^  said  the  soldier,  laughing,  "on  your 
honor,  what  do  you  suppose  your  pictures  are  worth?  By 
Jove!  you  have  jockeyed  your  uncle  very  prettily.  Well,  you 
had  a  right  to  do  it.  Uncles  are  made  to  be  plundered. 
Nature  bestowed  no  uncles  on  me ;  but,  by  all  that^s  holy,  if  I 
had  any,  I  would  not  spare  them  V 

"Did  you  know,  monsieur,"  asked  Flore  of  Eouget,  "how 
much  your  pictures  were  worth? — How  much  did  you  say. 
Monsieur  Joseph  ?" 

"Well,"  said  the  painter,  turning  as  red  as  a  beetroot,  "the 
pictures  are  worth  a  good  round  sum." 

"It  is  said  that  you  valued  them  at  a  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  francs  to  Monsieur  Hochon.    Is  that  true?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  painter,  as  candid  as  a  child. 

"And  had  you  any  intention,"  said  Flore  to  the  old  man, 
"of  giving  your  nephew  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs  ?" 

"Never,  never,"  cried  Eouget,  on  whom  Flore  had  fixed  a 
steady  eye. 

"It  is  quite  easily  settled,"  said  the  painter.  ^^I  will  send 
them  back  to  you,  uncle." 

"No,  no,  keep  them,"  said  the  old  fellow. 

"I  will  send  them  back,  uncle,"  repeated  Joseph,  offended 
by  the  insulting  silence  of  Maxence  Gilet  and  Flore  Brazier. 
"I  have  in  my  brush  the  means  of  making  my  fortune,  with- 
out owing  anything  to  anybody — even  to  my  uncle.  I  wish 
you  good-day,  mademoiselle.    Good-morning,  monsieur." 

And  Joseph  recrossed  the  road  in  a  state  of  irritation  which 
an  artist  may  conceive  of.    All  the  Hochon  family  were  in  the 

VOL.  4 — 40 


204 


A  BACHELOii'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


sitting-room.  Seeing  Joseph  gesticulating  and  muttering  to 
himself,  they  inquired  what  was  the  matter.  Then,  before 
Barnch  and  Frangois,  the  painter,  as  open  as  the  day,  repeated 
the  scene  he  had  just  gone  through,  wliich,  in  a  couple  of 
hours,  was  the  talk  of  the  whole  town,  every  one  embroidering 
the  story  with  more  or  less  impudent  additions.  Some  main* 
tained  that  the  painter  had  been  roughly  handled  by  Max, 
others  that  he  had  been  insolent  to  Mademoiselle  Brazier,  and 
that  Max  had  turned  him  out  of  the  house. 

^^Oh,  what  a  child  your  boy  is  I"  said  Hochon  to  Madame 
Bridau.  "The  simple  fellow  has  been  fooled  by  a  scene  got 
up  for  the  day  when  he  should  be  leaving.  Why,  Max  and 
la  Eabouilleuse  have  known  for  this  fortnight  past  what  the 
value  of  the  pictures  is,  since  J oseph  was  so  silly  as  to  men- 
tion it  in  the  presence  of  my  grandsons,  who  were  only  too 
eager  to  repeat  it  to  all  the  world.  Your  artist  ought  to  have 
left  without  notice." 

"My  son  is  right  to  restore  the  pictures  if  they  are  so  valu« 
able,"  said  Agathe. 

"If  they  are  worth  two  hundred  thousand  francs,  by  hiS' 
account,"  said  old  Hochon,  "he  is  an  idiot  for  allowing  him- 
self to  be  compelled  to  return  them;  for,  at  any  rate,  you 
would  have  had  that  much  of  the  property,  whereas,  as  mat- 
ters stand,  you  will  get  nothing  I — And  this  is  almost  reason 
enough  for  your  brother  to  refuse  to  see  you  again." 

Between  midnight  and  one  in  the  morning  the  Knights  of 
Idlesse  began  their  distribution  of  free  rations  to  the  dogs  of 
the  town.  This  memorable  expedition  ended  only  at  three 
in  the  morning,  and  then  the  mischievous  wretches  met  for 
supper  at  la  Cognette's.  At  half-past  four,  in  the  morning 
twilight,  they  crept  home.  At  the  instant  when  Max  turned 
out  of  the  Kue  de  I'Avenier  into  the  Grand'  Eue,  Fario,  in 
ambush  in  a  recess,  stabbed  him  with  a  knife,  aiming  straight 
at  the  heart,  pulled  out  the  weapon,  and  fled  to  the  moat  by  la 
Villate,  where  he  wiped  the  knife  on  his  handkerchief.  The 
Spaniard  then  rinsed  the  handkerchief  in  the  Borrowed 


A  iiACHELOK'S  ESTABJLiSilMiilNT 


205 


Stream,  and  quietly  went  home  to  Saint-Paterne,  where  lie 
went  to  bed,  getting  in  at  a  window  he  had  left  unfastened; 
his  new  shop-boy  woke  him  next  morning,  finding  him  sound 
asleep. 

Max  as  he  fell  uttered  a  fearful  shriek,  too  genuine  to  be 
misunderstood.  Lousteau-Prangin,  the  son  of  a  magistrate, 
a  distant  relation  of  the  late  sub-delegate,  and  young  Goddet, 
who  both  lived  at  the  bottom  of  the  Grand^  Rue,  ran  up  the 
street  again  as  fast  as  they  could  fly,  saying  "Max  is  being 
killed !  Help !" — But  not  a  dog  barked,  and  the  inhabitants, 
inured  to  the  tricks  of  these  night-birds,  did  not  stir. 

When  the  two  Knights  came  up  Max  had  fainted.  It  was 
necessary  to  call  up  Monsieur  Goddet  the  elder.  Max  had 
recognized  Fario;  but  when,  at  five  in  the  morning,  he  had 
fully  recovered  his  wits,  seeing  himself  surrounded  by  several 
persons,  and  feeling  that  the  wound  was  not  mortal,  it  sud- 
denly struck  him  that  he  might  take  advantage  of  this  at- 
tempted murder,  and  he  exclaimed  in  a  feeble  voice,  "I  fancied 
I  saw  the  eyes  and  face  of  that  damned  painter.'^ 

Upon  this,  Lousteau-Prangin  ran  off  to  fetch  his  father,  the 
examining  judge.  Max  was  carried  home  by  old  Cognet,  the 
younger  Goddet,  and  two  men  whom  they  got  out  of  bed.  La 
Cognette  and  Goddet  senior  walked  by  the  side  of  Max,  who 
was  laid  on  a  mattress  placed  on  two  poles.  Monsieur  Goddet 
would  do  nothing  till  Max  was  in  his  bed. 

Those  who  carried  him  naturally  looked  across  at  Hochon's 
house  while  Kouski  was  getting  up,  and  they  saw  the  woman- 
servant  sweeping.  In  this  house,  as  in  most  country  places, 
the  door  was  opened  at  a  very  early  hour.  The  only  words 
Max  had  spoken  had  aroused  suspicion,  and  the  surgeon  called 
across  the  road : 

"Gritte,  is  Monsieur  Joseph  Bridau  in  bed  ?" 

"Dear  me,"  said  she,  "he  went  out  at  about  half-past 
four;  he  walked  up  and  down  his  room  all  night.  I  can't 
think  what  had  taken  him." 

"A  pretty  fellow,  is  your  painter !"  said  one  and  another. 

And  the  party  went  in,  leaving  the  woman  in  constema- 


206 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


tion ;  she  had  seen  Max  lying  on  the  mattress^  his  shirt  stained 
with  blood,  apparently  dying. 

What  had  "taken"  Joseph  and  disturbed  him  all  night, 
every  artist  will  understand.  He  pictured  himself  as  the  talk 
of  Issoudun;  he  was  supposed  to  be  a  sharper,  anything  but 
what  he  wanted  to  be — an  honest  felloAV,  a  hard-working 
artist.  He  would  have  given  his  own  picture  to  be  able  to  fly 
like  a  swallow  to  Paris  and  fling  his  nucleus  pictures  in  Max's 
face.  To  be  the  victim  and  be  thought  the  spoiler!  What 
a  mockery!  And  so  at  daybreak  he  had  rushed  out  of  the 
house,  and  was  pacing  the  avenue  of  poplars  leading  to  Tivoli 
to  walk  off  his  excitement.  While  the  innocent  youth  was 
promising  himself,  by  way  of  consolation,  never  to  set  foot 
in  the  place  again,  Max  was  preparing  for  him  a  catastrophe 
full  of  horror  to  a  sensitive  mind. 

As  soon  as  Monsieur  Goddet  had  probed  the  wound,  and 
ascertained  that  the  knife,  turned  by  a  little  pocket-book,  hail 
happily  missed  aim,  though  it  had  left  a  frightful  gash,  h\\ 
did  as  all  doctors  do,  and  especially  country  surgeons — he  gav»j 
himself  airs  of  importance,  and  "could  not  answer  for  thii 
patient's  life."  Then,  after  dressing  the  rascally  soldier'ti 
wound,  he  went  away.  This  medical  verdict  he  repeated  to  Ui 
Rabouilleuse,  to  Jean-Jacques  Rouget,  to  Kouski,  and  Vedie. 
La  Rabouilleuse  went  back  to  her  dear  Max  drowned  in  tears, 
while  Kouski  and  Vedie  informed  the  crowd  assembled  at  the 
door  that  the  captain  was  as  good  as  done  for.  The  result 
of  this  news  was  that  above  two  hundred  persons  collected 
in  groups  on  the  Place  Saint-Jean  and  in  the  upper  and  lower 
Narette. 

"I  shall  not  be  in  bed  a  month,"  said  Max  to  Flore,  "and  I 
know  who  struck  the  blow.  But  we  will  take  advantage  of  it 
to  get  rid  of  the  Parisians.  I  said  I  fancied  I  had  recognized 
the  painter;  so  pretend  that  I  am  dying,  and  try  to  have 
J oseph  Bridau  arrested ;  we  will  give  him  a  taste  of  prison  for 
a  couple  of  days.  I  think  I  know  the  mother  well  enough 
to  feel  sure  that  she  will  be  off  to  Paris  then  post-haste  with 
her  painter.  Then  we  need  no  longer  fear  the  volley  of  priests 
they  talked  of  firing  at  our  old  idiot." 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


207 


When  Flore  Brazier  went  down,  she  found  the  mob  quite 
prepared  to  receive  the  impression  she  wished  to  make 
on  them;  she  appeared  before  them  with  tears  in  her  eyes, 
and  remarked  that  the  painter,  "who  for  that  matter  looked 
bad  enough  for  anything,^'  had  quarreled  fiercely  with  Max  the 
day  before  about  the  pictures  he  had  "boned"  from  Pere 
Eouget.  "That  brigand — for  you  have  only  to  look  in  his  face 
to  feel  sure — thinks  that  if  Max  were  out  of  the  way,  his  uncle 
would  leave  him  his  fortune.  As  if,"  added  she,  "a  brother 
wasn't  closer  than  a  nephew !  Max  is  Doctor  Eouget's  son ; 
the  old  man  owned  up  as  much  afore  he  died." 

"Ay,  he  thought  he  could  do  the  trick  before  he  left;  he 
planned  it  very  neatly:  he  is  going  to-day,"  said  one  of  the 
Knights  of  Idlesse. 

"Max  has  not  a  single  enemy  in  the  town,"  observed  an- 
other. 

"Besides,  Max  recognized  the  painter,"  said  la  Rabouilleuse. 

'^here  is  that  damned  Parisian  ?  Let  us  find  him,"  cried 
one  and  another. 

"Find  him?  Why,  he  stole  out  of  Monsieur  Hochon's 
house  before  daylight." 

One  of  the  Knights  at  once  ran  off  to  find  Monsieur  Mouille- 
ron.  The  crowd  was  still  swelling,  and  voices  grew  threat- 
ening. Excited  groups  filled  the  whole  of  the  Grande 
Narette;  others  stood  in  front  of  the  Church  of  Saint- Jean. 
A  mob  filled  the  Villate  gate  where  the  lower  Narette  ends. 
It  was  impossible  to  stir  above  or  below  the  Place  Saint-Jean. 
It  was  like  the  fag-end  cf  a  procession.  And  Messieurs 
Lousteau-Prangin  and  Mouilleron,  with  the  Superintendent 
of  Police,  the  Lieutenant  of  the  Gendarmerie,  and  his  ser- 
geant with  two  gendarmes,  had  some  difficulty  in  getting  to 
the  spot,  which  they  reached  between  two  hedges  of  the 
populace,  whose  shouts  and  yells  could  not  fail  to  prejudice" 
them  against  the  "Parisian,"  to  whom  circumstantial  evidence 
pointed  so  strongly  though  he  was  unjustly  accused. 

After  an  interview  between  Max  and  the  lawyers,  Mon- 
sieur Mouilleron  sent  the  Superintendent  of  Police  and  the 


208 


A  BACHELOR^S  ESTABLISHMENT 


sergeant,  with  one  gendarme,  to  examine  what,  in  the  language 
of  police  reports,  is  called  the  Scene  of  the  Crime.  Then 
Mouilleron  and  Loustean-Prangin,  escorted  by  the  lieutenant, 
crossed  from.  Pere  Eouget's  house  to  Monsieur  Hochon^ 
which  was  guarded  at  the  garden  entrance  by  two  gendarmes^ 
while  two  more  were  posted  at  the  street-door.  The  mob  was 
still  collecting ;  the  whole  town  was  in  a  hubbub  in  the  Grand' 
Rue. 

Gritte  had  long  since  flown,  breathless  with  terror,  to  her 
master's  room,  exclaiming : 

"Monsieur,  they  are  going  to  rob  the  house. — All  the  town 
is  in  a  riot ! — Monsieur  Maxence  Gilet  is  killed ;  he  is  going  to 
die ! — And  they  say  that  it  was  Monsieur  Joseph  that  stabbed 
him  r 

Monsieur  Hochon  hastily  dressed  and  came  down ;  but  see- 
ing the  furious  crowd,  he  at  once  retreated  within  doors 
and  barred  the  entrance.  On  questioning  Gritte,  he  ascertained 
that  his  guest,  after  v/alking  about  all  night  in  great  excite- 
ment, had  gone  out  before  daylight,  and  that  he  had  not 
come  in.  Much  alarmed,  he  went  to  his  wife's  room;  the 
noise  had  just  roused  her,  and  he  told  her  the  horrible  report 
f  which,  true  or  false,  had  brought  all  Issoudun  out  to  the 

Place  Saint-Jean. 

"Of  course  he  is  innocent !"  said  Madame  Hochon. 

"But  before  his  innocence  is  proved,  the  mob  may  force  their 
way  in  and  rob  us,"  said  Monsieur  Hochon,  who  had  turned 
ashy  pale.    He  had  gold  in  his  cellars. 

"And  Agathe?" 

"She  is  sleeping  like  a  marmot." 

"Ah,  so  much  the  better !"  said  Madame  Hochon ;  "I  only 
wish  she  could  sleep  on  till  this  matter  is  cleared  upo  Such 
a  blow  might  kill  the  poor  child." 

But  Agathe  soon  woke;  she  came  down  half-dressed,  for 
Gritte's  hints  and  concealments,  when  she  questioned  the 
woman,  had  sickened  her  heart  and  brain.  She  found  Mad- 
ame Hochon  pale,  and  her  eyes  full  of  tears,  standing  at  ane 
of  the  drawing-room  windows  with  her  husband. 


A  BACHELOR'S  ES'J^AliLISHMENT 


209 


"Courage,  my  child !    God  sends  as  all  our  troubles,"  said 

the  old  lady.    ^^Joseph  is  accused  " 

"Of  what?" 

"Of  a  wicked  deed  he  cannot  possibly  have  done/^  said  Mad- 
ame Hoclion. 

On  hearing  this  speech,  and  seeing  the  lieutenant  of  the 
watch  come  in  with  Messieurs  Lousteau-Prangin  and  Mouille- 
Ton,  Agathe  fainted  away. 

"Look  here,"  said  Monsieur  Hochon  to  his  wife  and  Gritte, 
"just  carry  Madame  Bridau  away.  Women  are  only  a  trouble 
under  such  circumstances.  Go  away,  both  of  you,  with  her, 
and  sta}^  in  your  room. — Gentlemen,  pray  be  seated,"  added 
the  old  man.  "The  mistake  to  which  we  owe  this  visit  will, 
I  hope,  soon  be  cleared  up." 

"Even  if  it  is  a  mistake,^'  said  Monsieur  Mouilleron.  "the 
mob  are  so  madly  exasperated,  and  excited  to  such  a  pitch, 
that  I  am  alarmed  for  the  accused. — I  wish  I  could  get  him  to 
|;he  Court-house,  and  soothe  the  public  mind." 

"Who  could  have  imagined  that  Monsieur  Maxence  Gilet 
•  tvas  so  much  beloved?"  said  Lousteau-Prangin. 

"There  are  twelve  hundred  people  at  this  moment  pouring 
•out  of  the  Roman  suburb,"  said  the  lieutenant,  "so  one  of  my 
men  has  just  told  me — and  shrieking  for  the  assassin's 
death." 

"Where  is  your  guest?"  asked  Monsieur  Mouilleron. 
"He  is  gone  for  a  walk  in  the  country,  I  believe,"  said 
Hochon. 

"Call  back  Gritte,"  said  the  examining  judge  gravely. 
"I  hoped  that  Monsieur  Bridau  might  not  have  left  the 
house.  You  know,  of  course,  that  the  crime  was  committed 
only  a  few  yards  from  this  house,  just  at  daybreak  ?" 

While  Monsieur  Hochon  went  to  fetch  Gritte,  the  three 
functionaries  exchanged  glances  full  of  meaning. 

"I  never  took  to  that  painter's  face,"  said  the  lieutenant  to 
Monsieur  Mouilleron. 

"Listen  to  me,"  said  the  lawyer  to  Gritte,  as  she  came  in. 


210 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


•^You  saw  Monsieur  Joseph  Bridau  go  out  this  morning,  I 
am  told  r 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  she,  shaking  like  a  leaf. 
"At  what  hour?" 

"Directly  after  I  got  up ;  for  he  was  tramping  in  his  room 
all  night,  and  he  was  dressed  when  I  came  down/' 
"Was  it  daylight?" 
"Twilight/^ 

"And  he  seemed  excited  ?" 

"I  should  think  he  did ! — He  seemed  to  me  quite  how-come- 
you-so." 

"Send  one  of  your  men  for  my  clerk,"  said  Lousteau- 
Prangin  to  the  lieutenant,  "and  tell  him  to  bring  forms  " 

"Good  God !  don't  be  in  a  hurry,"  said  Monsieur  Hochon. 
"The  young  man's  excitement  may  be  accounted  for  without 
any  premeditated  crime.  He  is  starting  for  Paris  to-day  in 
consequence  of  a  matter  in  which  Gilet  and  Mademoiselle 
Flore  Brazier  chose  to  doubt  his  honesty." 

"Yes,  the  business  about  the  pictures,"  said  Monsieur  Mou- 
illeron.  "It  was  the  cause  of  a  vehement  quarrel  yesterday, 
and  artists  are  always  ready  to  catch  fire  under  the  thatch,  as 
they  say." 

"Who  in  all  Issoudun  would  have  any  interest  in  killing 
Max?"  said  Lousteau.  "Nobody;  no  jealous  husband,  no 
one  whatever,  for  the  man  has  never  injured  any  one." 

"But  what  was  Monsieur  Gilet  doing  in  the  streets  at  half- 
past  four  in  the  morning  ?"  said  Monsieur  Hochon. 

"Look  here.  Monsieur  Hochon,  leave  us  to  manage  our  own 
business,"  replied  Mouilleron.  "You  do  not  know  all.  Max 
saw  and  knew  your  painter  " 

At  this  instant  a  roar  started  from  the  bottom  of  the  town^ 
increasing  as  it  rolled  up  the  Grande  Narette  like  the  advance 
of  a  peal  of  thunder. 

"Here  he  is  ! — here  he  is  !  They  have  got  him !"  These 
words  stood  out  clearly  above  the  deep  bars  of  a  terrific  growl 
from  the  mob.  In  fact,  poor  Joseph  Bridau,  coming  quietly 
home  past  the  mill  at  Landrole  to  be  in  time  for  breakfast,  was 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


211 


seen  as  he  reached  the  Place  Misere  by  everybody  at  once. 
Happily  for  him,  two  men  at  arms  came  running  down  to 
rescue  him  from  the  mob  of  the  Eoman  suburb,  who  had  al- 
ready seized  him  roughly  by  the  arms,  threatening  to  kill  him. 

'^Make  way !  Clear  out  V  said  the  gendarmes,  calling  two 
others  to  come  and  walk  one  in  front  and  one  behind  Bridau. 

^'You  see,  monsieur,^^  said  one  of  the  four  who  had  taken 
hold  of  him,  "our  skin  is  in  danger  at  this  moment  as  much 
as  yours.  Innocent  or  guilty,  we  must  protect  you  against  the  ^ 
riot  caused  by  the  murder  of  Captain  Gilet ;  these  people  will 
not  be  satisfied  with  accusing  you ;  they  believe  you  to  be  the 
assassin  as  sure  as  death.  Monsieur  Gilet  is  worsliiped  by 
those  men — look  at  them;  they  would  love  to  execute  justice 
on  you  themselves.  We  saw  them  in  1830  when  they  thrashed 
the  excise  men ;  it  was  no  joke,  I  can  tell  you." 

Joseph  Bridau  turned  as  pale  as  death,  and  collected  all 
his  strength  to  keep  on  his  feet. 

"After  all,"  said  he,  "I  had  nothing  to  do  with  it.  Come 

on  r 

And  he  had  to  bear  his  cross !  He  was  the  object  of  yells, 
abuse,  threats  of  death,  at  every  step  of  the  horrible  walk  from 
the  Place  Misere  to  the  Place  Saint- Jean.  The  gendarmes 
were  obliged  to  draw  their  swords  to  intimidate  the  angry 
crowd  who  threw  stones  at  them.  The  force  barely  escaped 
being  hurt,  and  some  of  the  missiles  hit  J oseph's  legs,  shoul- 
ders, and  hat. 

"Here  we  are,"  said  one  of  the  men,  as  they  went  into  Mon- 
sieur Hochon^s  room;  "and  it  was  not  an  easy  job,  Lieuten- 
ant." 

"Now,  the  next  thing  is  to  disperse  this  crowd,  and  I  see 
but  one  way,  gentlemen,"  said  the  officer  to  the  magistrates. 
"It  is  to  get  Monsieur  Bridau  to  the  Palais  de  Justice  by 
making  him  walk  between  you.  I  and  all  my  men  will  keep 
close  round  you.  It  is  impossible  to  answer  for  what  may 
happen  when  you  are  face  to  face  with  six  thousand  furious 
creatures." 

"You  are  right,"  said  Monsieur  Hochon,  still  quaking  for 
his  gold. 


212 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


"If  that  is  the  best  way  you  have  at  Issoudun  of  protect- 
ing innocence,  I  must  congratulate  you!"  said  Joseph.  "I 
have  already  been  within  an  ace  of  being  stoned  " 

"Do  you  want  to  see  your  host's  house  attacked  and  pil- 
laged said  the  lieutenant.  "Could  we,  with  our  swords,  offer 
effectual  resistance  to  a  surge  of  men  driven  on  by  a  posse  of 
angry  people  who  know  nothing  of  the  forms  of  justice 
i  "Oh !  come  on,  gentlemen ;  we  will  talk  it  out  afterwards/* 
said  Joseph,  who  had  recovered  his  presence  of  mind. 

"Make  way,  my  friends,"  said  the  lieutenant,  "he  i? 
arrested ;  we  are  going  to  take  him  to  the  Palais  de  Justice." 

"Eespect  the  law,  my  good  fellows  !"  said  Monsieur  Mouille- 
ron. 

"Would  not  you  sooner  see  him  guillotined  ?"  said  one  of  the 
gendarmes  to  a  menacing  group. 

"Ay,  ay!"  cried  an  infuriated  bystander.  "Guillotine 
him!" 

"He  is  to  be  guillotined !"  repeated  some  women. 

At  the  bottom  of  the  Grande  Narette  they  were  saying : 

"They  are  taking  him  off  to  be  guillotined;  the  knife  waf? 
found  upon  him !  Oh !  the  wretch ! — That  is  your  Parisian ! 
— Why,  he  has  crime  written  on  his  face !" 

Though  Joseph's  blood  seethed  in  his  head,  he  walked  from 
the  Place  Saint- Jean  to  the  Palais  de  Justice  with  admirable 
coolness  and  dignity.  He  was,  nevertheless,  glad  enough  when 
he  found  himself  in  Monsieur  Lousteau-Prangin's  office. 

"I  need  hardly  tell  you,  gentlemen,  I  suppose,  that  I  am 
innocent,"  said  he,  addressing  Monsieur  Mouilleron,  Monsieur 
Lousteau-Prangin,  and  the  clerk.  "I  can  only  beg  you  to  help 
me  to  prove  mv  innocence.  I  know  nothing  about  the  mat- 
ter  " 

When  the  judge  had  explained  to  Joseph  all  the  evidence 
against  him,  ending  with  Max's  deposition,  Joseph  was 
astounded. 

"Why,"  said  he,  "I  did  not  leave  the  house  till  past  five;  I 
walked  down  tlie  Grand'  Eue,  and  at  half-past  five  I  was  gaz- 
ing at  the  front  of  your  parish  church  at  Saint-Cyr.  I  stopped 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


213 


to  speali  for  a  moment  to  the  bell-riDger,  who  was  about  to 
toll  the  AngeluSj  asking  him  some  questions  about  the  build- 
ing, which  had  struck  me  as  quaint  and  unfinished.  Then 
I  crossed  the  vegetable  market,  where  the  women  were  already 
collecting.  From  thence  I  went  by  the  Place  Misere  and  the 
Pont-aux-Anes  to  the  mill  of  Landrdle,  where  I  quietly 
watched  the  ducks  for  five  or  six  minutes;  the  miller's  men 
must  have  noticed  me.  I  sav/  some  women  coming  to  the 
washing-place;  they  must  be  there  still;  they  began  to  laugh 
at  me,  remarking  that  I  was  no  beauty;  I  replied  that  an 
ugly  case  might  contain  jewels.  I  went  along  the  avenue  as 
far  as  Tivoli,  v/here  I  talked  to  the  gardener.  .  .  .  Verify 
all  these  statements,  and  do  not  arrest  me,  I  beg,  for  I  give 
you  my  word  of  honor  to  remain  in  your  office  till  you  are  con- 
vinced of  my  innocence." 

This  rational  statement,  made  without  any  hesitation,  and 
with  the  ease  of  a  man  sure  of  his  case,  made  some  impression 
on  the  lawyers. 

"Well,  v/e  must  summons  and  find  all  these  people,"  said 
Monsieur  Mouilleron,  "but  that  is  not  to  be  done  in  a  day. 
LVIake  up  your  mind,  in  your  ov/n  interest,  to  remain  in  the 
lock-up  of  the  Palais  de  Justice." 

"Then  let  me  write  to  reassure  my  mother,  poor  woman. — 
Oh,  you  may  read  the  letter !" 

The  request  was  too  reasonable  to  be  refused,  and  Joseph 
wrote  these  few  lines : 

"Do  not  be  uneasy,  my  dear  mother;  the  mistake  of  which 
I  am  the  victim  will  be  easily  cleared  up,  and  I  have  given  the 
clue.  To-morrow,  or  perhaps  this  evening,  I  shall  be  free.  I 
emxbrace  you ;  and  say  to  Monsieur  and  Madame  Hochon  how 
grieved  I  am  by  this  worry,  which  is  indeed  no  fault  of  mine, 
for  it  is  the  result  of  some  mistake  which  I  do  not  yet  under- 
stand." 

When  this  letter  arrived,  Madame  Bridau  was  half-dead 
of  nervous  terrors,  and  the  remedies  Monsieur  Goddet  was 
persuading  her  to  sip  had  no  effect  whatever.  But  the  read- 
ing of  this  letter  was  like  a  balm ;  after  a  few  hysterical  sobs 
Agathe  sank  into  ^e  quiescence  that  succeeds  such  a.  crisis. 


214 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


When  Monsieur  Goddet  came  again  to  visit  his  patient,  he 
found  her  regretting  having  left  Paris. 

"God  is  punishing  me/'  said  she,  with  tears  in  her  eyeSo 
"Oh,  my  dear  godmother,  ought  I  not  to  have  trusted  in  Him, 
and  have  looked  to  His  mercy  for  my  brother's  fortune  ?''* 

"Madame,"  said  Hochon  in  her  ear,  "if  your  son  is  innocent. 
Max  is  an  utter  villain,  and  we  shall  not  overmatch  him  in  the 
business ;  so  go  back  to  Paris." 

"And  how  is  Monsieur  Gilet  going  on?"  asked  Madame 
Hochon  of  the  doctor. 

"The  wound  is  serious,  but  not  mortal.  A  month  of  care, 
and  he  will  be  all  right  again.  I  left  him  writing  to  Mon- 
sieur Mouilleron  to  request  him  to  release  your  son,"  said  he 
to  Madame  Bridau.  "Oh !  Max  is  a  good  fellow.  I  told  him 
what  a  state  you  were  in ;  and  then  he  remembered  a  detail  of 
the  murderer's  dress,  which  proved  to  him  that  he  could  not 
be  your  son ;  the  assassin  had  on  list  shoes,  and  it  ib  perfectly 
certain  that  your  son  went  out  walking  in  boots." 

"Ah !  God  forgive  him  the  ill  he  has  done  me !" 

At  nightfall  a  man  had  left  a  note  for  Gilet,  written  in  a 
feigned  hand,  and  in  these  words : 

"Captain  Gilet  must  not  leave  an  innocent  man  in  the 
hands  of  the  law.  The  person  who  dealt  the  blow  promises  not 
to  repeat  it  if  Monsieur  Gilet  delivers  Monsieur  Joseph 
Bridau  without  denouncing  the  real  culprit.'* 

On  reading  this  letter,  which  he  burnt,  Max  wrote  to  Mon- 
sieur Mouilleron  a  note  mentioning  the  remark  he  had  made  to 
Monsieur  Goddet,  begging  him  to  release  J oseph,  and  to  come 
and  see  him  that  he  might  explain  matters. 

By  the  time  this  note  reached  Monsieur  Mouilleron, 
Lousteau-Prangin  had  already  proved  the  truth  of  Joseph's 
account  of  himself,  by  the  evidence  of  the  bell-ringer,  of  a 
market-woman,  of  the  washerwomen,  the  men  of  the  mill, 
and  the  gardener  from  Frapesle.  Max's  letter  finally  demon- 
strated the  innocence  of  the  accused,  whom  Monsierr  Mouille- 
ron himself  escorted  back  to  Monsieur  Hochon's.  Joseph 
was  received  by  his  mother  with  such  eager  tenderness,  that, 


A  BACHELOR  S  ESTABLISHMENT 


215 


like  the  husband  in  la  Fontaine's  fable,  this  poor  misprized 
son  was  thankful  to  chance  for  an  annoyance  which  had 
secured  him  such  a  demonstration  of  affection. 

"Of  course,"  said  Monsieur  Mouilleron,  with  an  all-know- 
ing air,  "I  saw  at  once,  by  the  way  you  faced  the  mob,  that  you 
were  innocent;  but  in  spite  of  my  convictions,  you  see,  when 
you  know  what  Issoudun  is,  the  best  way  to  protect  you  was 
to  take  you  to  prison  as  we  did.  I  must  say  you  put  a  good 
face  on  the  matter." 

"I  was  thinking  of  something  else,"  replied  the  artist  sim- 
ply. "I  know  an  officer  who  told  me  that  he  was  once  arrested 
in  Dalmatia  under  somewhat  similar  circumstances,  on  his 
way  home  from  an  early  morning  walk,  by  an  excited  mob. — 
The  similarity  struck  me,  and  I  was  studying  all  those  heads 
with  the  idea  of  painting  a  riot  in  1793.  .  .  .  And  then 
I  was  saying  to  myself,  ^Greedy  wretch !  you  have  got  no  more 
than  you  deserve  for  coming  fortune-hunting  instead  of  paint- 
ing in  your  studio  '  " 

"If  you  will  allow  me  to  offer  you  a  piece  of  advice,"  said 
the  public  prosecutor,  "you  will  get  into  a  post-chaise  this 
evening  at  eleven  o'clock — the  postmaster  will  let  you  have  one 
— and  get  back  to  Paris  by  diligence  from  Bourges." 

"That  is  my  opinion  too,"  said  Monsieur  Hochon,  who  was 
dying  to  be  rid  of  his  guest. 

"And  it  is  my  most  earnest  wish  to  be  out  of  Issoudun, 
though  I  leave  my  only  friend  here,'*  replied  Agathe,  taking 
Madame  Hochon's  hand  and  kissing  it.  "When  shall  I  see 
you  again?" 

"Ah!  my  child,  we  shall  never  meet  again  till  we  meet 
above!  We  have  suffered  so  much  here,"  she  added,  in  an 
undertone,  "that  God  will  have  pity  on  us." 

A  moment  after,  when  Monsieur  Mouilleron  had  been  over 
to  see  Max,  Gritte  greatly  astonished  Monsieur  and  Madame 
Hochon,  Agathe,  Joseph,  and  Adolphine  by  announcing  a  call 
from  Monsieur  Rouget.  Jean- Jacques  had  come  to  take  leave 
of  his  sister,  and  to  offer  her  the  carriage  to  take  her  to 
Bourges. 


216 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


"Ah,  your  pictureb  have  done  us  an  ill  turn,"  said  Agathe. 

'^Keep  them,  sister,"  said  the  old  man,  who  did  not  yet  be- 
lieve in  the  value  of  the  paintings. 

"Neighbor  Eouget,"  said  Monsieur  Hochon,  "our  relations 
are  our  best  friends  and  protectors,  especially  when  they  are 
such  as  your  sister  Agathe  and  your  nephew  Joseph." 

"Perhaps  so,"  said  the  old  fellow,  in  bewilderment. 

^'You  must  be  thinking  of  making  a  Christian  end,"  said 
Madame  Hochon. 

"Oh,  Jean- J acques,  what  a  day  this  has  been !"  said  Agathe. 

"Will  you  accept  my  carriage  ?"  asked  Rouget. 

"No,  brother,"  replied  Madame  Bridau.  "Thank  you,  all 
the  same.    I  v/ish  you  good  health !" 

Rouget  allowed  his  sister  and  nephew  to  embrace  him,  then 
he  w^nt  av/ay  after  a  cool  leave-taking. 

Barach,  at  a  word  from  his  grandfather,  had  hurried  off 
to  the  posting-house.  At  eleven  that  evening  the  two  Pa- 
risians, packed  into  a  wicker  chaise  with  one  horse  ridden 
by  a  postilion,  left  Issoudun.  Adolphine  and  Madame 
Hochon  had  tears  in  their  eyes ;  they  alone  regretted  Agathe 
and  Joseph. 

"They  are  gone !"  cried  Frangois  Hochon,  going  into  Max's 
room  with  la  Rabouilleuse. 

"Well,  the  trick  is  done said  Max,  weakened  by  fever. 

"But  what  did  you  say  to  old  Mouilleron?"  asked  Fran- 
gois. 

"I  told  him  that  I  had  almost  given  my  assassin  just  cause 
to  wait  for  me  at  a  street  corner;  that  the  man  was  quite 
capable,  if  the  law  were  at  his  heels,  of  killing  me  like  a  dog 
before  he  could  be  caught.  In  consequence,  I  begged  Mou- 
illeron and  Prangin  to  pretend  to  be  hunting  him  down,  but  in 
fact  to  leave  the  man  alone,  unless  they  wanted  to  see  me  a 
dead  man." 

"I  hope  now.  Max,"  said  Flore,  "that  you  will  remain  quiet 
at  night  for  some  little  time." 

"Well,  we  are  quit  of  the  Parisians  at  any  rate,"  cried  Max. 
"Ihti  man  who  stabbed  me  did  not  iinr.gine  he  was  doidg  us 
such  good  service." 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


217 


Next  clay,  witli  the  exception  of  a  few  very  quiet  and  re- 
served people  who  shared  the  views  of  Monsieur  and  Madame 
Hochon,  all  the  town  rejoiced  over  the  departure  of  tho 
Bridaus,  though  it  was  due  to  a  deplorable  mistake,  as  if  tho 
event  were  a  triumph  of  the  provinces  over  Paris.  Some  of 
Max's  friends  expressed  themselves  in  hard  terms. 

^^Well,  indeed !  Did  those  Parisians  imagine  that  we  are 
all  idiots,  and  that  they  had  only  to  hold  out  a  hat  for  fortunes 
to  pour  into  it." 

"They  came  in  search  of  wool,  and  they  have  gone  away 
shorn,  for  the  nephew  is  not  to  his  uncle's  taste." 

"And  they  had  the  advice  of  a  Paris  lawyer,  if  you 
please  " 

"Oh,  ho!    They  had  laid  a  plan  then?" 

"Why,  yes,  a  plan  to  get  round  Pere  Rouget;  but  the  Pa- 
l  isians  saw  that  they  were  not  equal  to  it,  and  their  kwyer 
won't  laugh  at  the  natives  of  le  Berry  " 

"But  it  is  abominable,  you  know !" 

"That  is  your  Parisian !" 

"La  Rabouilleuse  saw  that  she  was  attacked,  and  she  da- 
fended  herself  ^" 

"And  quite  right  too  !" 

To  every  one  in  the  town  Agathe  and  Joseph  were  "Pa- 
risians"— strangers — foreigners.  They  preferred  Max  and 
Flore. 

With  what  satisfaction  Agathe  and  Joseph  found  them- 
selves at  home  in  their  little  lodging  in  the  Rue  Mazarine  may 
be  imagined.  In  the  course  of  the  journey  the  artist  had  re- 
covered his  spirits,  crushed  for  a  time  by  the  scene  of  his 
arrest,  and  by  twenty  hours  in  prison ;  but  he  could  not  rally 
his  mother.  Agathe  could  the  less  get  over  it,  because  the 
trial  for  military  conspiracy  before  the  Supreme  Court  was 
coming  on. 

Philippe's  conduct,  in  spite  of  the  skill  of  an  advocate  rec- 
ommended by  Desroches,  gave  rise  to  suspicions  unfavorable 
to  his  reputation.    So,, as  soon  as  Joseph  had  reported  to  Des- 


218 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


roches  all  that  had  occurred  at  Issoudun,  he  started  forthwith, 
accompanied  by  Mistigris,  for  the  Comte  de  Serizy's  chateau, 
so  as  to  hear  nothing  of  this  trial,  which  lasted  twenty  days. 

It  is  useless  here  to  enlarge  on  facts  which  are  part  of  con- 
temporary history.  Whether  it  was  that  he  played  a  part 
dictated  to  him,  or  that  he  turned  King^s  evidence,  Philippe's 
sentence  was  to  police  surveillance  for  five  years ;  and  he  was 
required  to  set  out,  the  very  day  he  was  released,  for  Autun, 
the  town  assigned  to  him  as  his  place  of  residence  during 
those  five  years.  The  sentence  was  a  form  of  detention  similar 
to  that  of  prisoners  on  parole,  who  are  confined  within  the 
walls  of  a  town. 

On  hearing  that  the  Comte  de  Serizy,  one  of  the  peers  ap- 
pointed by  the  Upper  Chamber  to  sit  on  the  commission,  was 
employing  Joseph  to  decorate  his  house  at  Presles,  Desroches 
craved  an  audience  of  this  minister,  and  found  him  very  well 
inclined  to  help  Joseph,  whose  acquaintance  he  happened  to 
have  made.  Desroches  explained  the  pecuniary  difficulties  of 
the  two  brothers,  mentioning  the  good  service  done  by  their 
father,  and  the  way  in  which  he  had  been  forgotten  under  the 
Restoration. 

"Such  injustice  as  this,  monseigneur,''  said  the  attorney, 
"is  a  permanent  source  of  irritation  and  discontent.  You 
knew  the  father ;  then  put  it  in  the  power  of  his  sons  to  acquire 
a  fortune.'' 

He  then  briefly  set  forth  the  state  of  the  family  affairs  at 
Issoudun,  craving  that  the  all-powerful  vice-president  of  the 
Council  would  take  some  steps  to  persuade  the  Chief  Com- 
missioner of  Police  to  transfer  Philippe  from  Autun  to  Is- 
soudun as  a  place  of  exile.  Finally,  he  mentioned  Philippe's 
abject  poverty,  and  begged  a  pension  of  sixty  francs  a  month, 
which  the  War  Office  might,  in  common  decency,  grant  to  a  re- 
tired Lieutenant-Colonel. 

"I  will  get  all  you  ask  done,"  said  the  Count,  "for  it  all 
seems  to  me  quite  just." 

Three  days  after,  Desroches,  armed  with  the  necessary 
warrants,  went  to  fetch  Philippe  from  the  prison  cell  of  the 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTA.BLISHMENT  219 


Supreme  Court,  and  took  him  to  his  own  house  in  the  Eue 
de  Bethizy.  There  the  young  attorney  gave  the  dreadful  sol- 
dier one  of  those  unanswerable  sermons  in  which  a  lawyer 
places  things  in  their  true  light,  using  the  crudest  language  to 
epitomize  the  facts  of  his  clients'  conduct,  to  analyze  their 
ideas,  and  reduce  them  to  the  simplest  expression,  when  he 
takes  enough  interest  in  a  man  to  preach  to  him.  After 
crushing  the  Emperor's  staff-officer  by  accusing  him  of  reck- 
less dissipation,  and  of  causing  his  mother's  misfortunes  and 
the  death  of  old  Madame  Descoings,  he  told  him  how  matters 
stood  at  Issoudun,  explaining  them  from  his  own  point  of 
view,  and  thoroughly  unveiling  the  schemes  and  the  character 
of  Maxence  Gilet  and  la  Eabouilleuse.  The  political  outlaw, 
who  was  gifted  with  keen  perceptions  in  such  matters,  listened 
far  more  intently  to  this  part  of  Desroches'  lecture  than  to  the 
first.- 

"This  being  the  state  of  affairs,''  said  the  lawyer,  "you  may 
repair  so  much  as  is  reparable  of  the  mischief  you  have  done 
to  your  excellent  family — since  you  cannot  restore  to  life  the 
poor  woman  whose  death  lies  at  your  door;  but  you  alone 
can  " 

"But  how  can  I  do  it  ?"  asked  Philippe. 

"I  have  interceded  for  you  to  be  quartered  at  Issoudun  in- 
stead of  at  Autun." 

Philippe's  face,  grown  very  thin,  and  almost  sinister,  fur- 
rowed as  it  was  by  suffering  and  privation,  was  suddenly 
lighted  up  by  a  flash  of  satisfaction. 

"You  alone,  I  was  saying,  can  rescue  your  uncle  Rouget's 
fortune,  of  which,  by  this  time,  half,  perhaps,  has  disappeared 
in  the  maw  of  that  wolf  called  Gilet,"  Desroches  went  on. 
"You  know  all  the  facts;  now  3^ou  must  act  upon  them.  T 
suggest  no  scheme;  I  have  no  ideas  on  the  subject.  Besides, 
every  plan  might  need  modifying  on  the  scene  of  action.  You 
have  a  very  strong  adversary ;  the  rascal  is  very  astute,  and  the 
way  in  which  he  tried  to  get  back  the  pictures  given  to  Joseph 
by  your  uncle,  and  succeeded  in  casting  the  odium  of  a  crime 
on  your  poor  brother,  reveals  an  unscrupulous  opponent. 
VOL.  4 — 41 


220 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


Sc  be  prudent;  try  to  behave  yourself  in  your  own  interest, 
if  you  cannot  otherwise  control  yourself. — Without  saying  a 
word  to  Joseph,  whose  pride  as  an  artist  would  rise  in  arms, 
I  sent  the  pictures  back  to  Monsieur  Hochon,  writing  to  him 
to  deliver  them  only  to  you. — Maxence  Gilet  is  brave    .  . 

"So  much  the  better/'  said  Philippe ;  "I  trust  to  the  rascal's 
courage  to  enable  me  to  succeed^  for  a  coward  would  go  away 
from  Issoudun.'' 

"Very  good.  Now,  think  of  your  mother,  whose  love  for 
you  is  worthy  of  worship ;  and  of  your  brother,  whom  you  have 
used  as  your  milch-cow    .  . 

"What !  he  mentioned  those  trifles  to  you     cried  Philippe. 

"Come,  come;  I  am  a  friend  of  the  family,  and  I  know 
more  about  you  than  they  do.'' 

"What  do  you  know  ?"  asked  Philippe. 

"You  turned  traitor  to  your  fellow-conspirators    .  . 

"I !"  cried  Philippe ;  "I !  a  staff -officer  of  the  Emperor's  ! 
Get  along!  We  took  in  the  Chamber  of  Peers,  the  lawyers, 
the  Government,  and  the  whole  blessed  boiling !  The  King's 
men  sav/  nothing  but  the  blaze    .    .  ." 

"So  much  the  better  if  it  is  true,"  replied  the  lawyer.  "But, 
you  see,  the  Bourbons  cannot  be  overthrown;  they  have 
Europe  on  their  side ;  and  you  should  try  to  make  your  peace 
with  the  War  Office. — Oh !  you  will  when  you  are  a  rich  man. 
To  grow  rich,  you  and  your  brother  must  get  hold  of  your 
uncle.  If  you  want  to  bring  a  matter  requiring  so  much  skill, 
judgment,  and  patience  to  a  good  end,  you  have  enough  to 
keep  your  hands  full  all  your  five  years  " 

"No,  no,"  interrupted  Philippe,  "the  thing  must  be  done 
quickly.  That  Gilet  may  get  possession  of  my  uncle's  money 
and  invest  it  in  that  woman's  name,  then  all  would  be  lost." 

"Well,  Monsieur  Hochon  is  a  shrewd,  clear-sighted  man. 
Take  his  advice.  You  have  your  pass  for  the  journey,  your 
place  is  taken  by  the  Orleans  dilgence  for  half-past  seven, 
your  trunk  is  packed. — Come  to  dinner." 

"I  have  not  a  thing  but  what  I  stand  up  in,"  said  Philippe, 
opening  his  wretched  blue  great-coat.    "But  I  want  three 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


221 


things,  which  I  would  ask  you  to  beg  my  friend  Giroudeau, 
Finot's  uncle,  to  send  after  me — my  cavalry  sword,  my  rapier, 
and  my  pistols/^ 

"You  want  a  good  deal  besides,''  said  the  lawyer  with  a 
shudder,  as  he  looked  at  his  client.  "You  shall  have  three 
months  advanced  pay  to  get  you  decent  clothing." 

"Hallo!  are  you  here,  Godeschal?"  cried  Philippe,  recog- 
nizing Mariette's  brother  in  Desroches'  head-clerk. 

"Yes;  I  have  been  with  Monsieur  Desroches  these  two 
months." 

"And  he  will  stay  here,  I  hope,"  said  Desroches,  "till  he 
buys  a  practice." 

"And  Mariette  ?"  said  Philippe,  touched  by  the  thought  of 
her. 

"She  is  waiting  for  the  new  house  to  be  opened." 

"It  would  not  cost  her  much  to  see  me  once  more,"  said 
Philippe.    "However,  as  she  pleases  !" 

After  the  scanty  dinner,  paid  for  by  Desroches,  who  was  giv- 
ing his  head-clerk  his  board,  the  two  young  lawyers  saw  the 
political  outlaw  into  the  coach,  and  wished  him  good  luck. 

On  the  2nd  of  November,  All  Soul's  Da}^  Philippe  Bridau 
presented  himself  before  the  head  of  the  police  at  Issoudun 
to  have  his  pass  countersigned  on  the  day  of  his  arrival ;  then, 
by  that  functionary's  instructions,  he  found  a  lodging  in  the 
Eue  de  I'Avenier. 

The  news  immediately  spread  through  Issoudun  that  one 
of  the  officers  involved  in  the  late  conspiracy  was  quartered  in 
the  town,  and  the  sensation  was  all  the  greater  because  it  was 
understood  that  this  officer  was  the  brother  of  the  painter  who 
had  been  so  unjustly  arrested.  Maxence  Gilet,  by  this  time 
quite  recovered  from  his  wound,  had  carried  through  the  diffi- 
cult business  of  calling  in  the  moneys  placed  on  mortgage 
by  Pere  Rouget,  and  having  them  invested  in  the  funds.  The 
loan  of  a  hundred  and  forty  thousand  francs,  raised  by  the  old 
man  on  his  land,  had  produced  a  great  sensation,  for  in  the 
country  everything  is  known.    On  behalf  of  the  Bridaus, 


222 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


Monsieur  Hochon,  shocked  at  this  necessity,  questioned  old 
Monsieur  Heron,  Rougefs  notary,  as  to  the  object  of  this 
change  of  investments. 

"If  JPere  Rouget  changes  his  mind,  his  heirs  will  owe  me  a 
votive  offering,"  cried  Monsieur  Heron.  "But  for  me,  the 
old  man  would  have  invested  the  capital  of  fifty  thousand 
francs  a  year  in  the  name  of  Maxence  Gilet.  But  I  told  Made- 
moiselle Brazier  that  she  had  belter  be  satisfied  with  the  will, 
or  risk  an  action  for  undue  influence,  seeing  the  abundant  proof 
of  their  manoeuvring  afforded  by  the  transfers  made  in  every 
direction.  To  gain  tim.e  I  advised  Maxence  and  his  mistress 
to  let  people  forget  this  sudden  change  in  the  old  boy's 
habits." 

"Ah!  constitute  yourself  the  ally  and  protector  of  the 
Bridaus,  for  they  are  penniless,"  said  Monsieur  Hochon,  who 
could  not  forgive  Max  for  the  terrors  he  had  endured  when 
fearing  that  his  house  would  be  pillaged. 

Maxence  Gilet  and  Flore  Brazier,  untouched  by  all  mis- 
giving, made  light  of  the  advent  of  old  Rouget's  elder  nephew. 
The  moment  Philippe  should  cause  them  any  anxiety,  they 
knew  they  could  transfer  the  securities  to  either  of  themselves 
by  making  Rouget  sign  a  power  of  attorney.  If  he  should 
alter  his  will,  fifty  thousand  francs  a  year  was  a  very  hand- 
some plum  of  consolation,  especially  after  burdening  the  real 
estate  with  a  mortgage  of  a  hundred  and  forty  thousand 
francs. 

The  morning  after  his  arrival  Philippe  called  on  his  uncle 
at  about  ten  o'clock ;  he  was  bent  on  exhibiting  himself  in  his 
dreadful  old  clothes.  And,  indeed,  when  the  discharged  patient 
from  the  hospital,  the  prisoner  from  the  Luxembourg,  entered 
the  sitting-room,  Flore  Brazier  felt  her  heart  chill  at  his  repul- 
sive appearance.  Gilet,  too,  felt  that  shock  to  the  mind  and 
feelings  by  which  Nature  v/arns  us  of  some  latent  hostility  or 
looming  danger.  While  Philippe  had  acquired  an  indescrib- 
ably sinister  expression  of  countenance  from  his  late  misfor- 
tunes, his  dress  certainly  added  to  the  effect.  The  wretched 
blue  overcoat  was  buttoned  in  military  style  up  to  his  chin. 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


223 


for  melancholy  reasons  indeed,  but  it  showed  too  plainly  what 
it  was  meant  to  hide.  The  edge  of  his  trousers,  fringed  like 
a  pensioner's  coat,  revealed  abject  squalor.  His  boots  left 
damp  blots  of  muddy  water  oozing  from  the  gaping  seams. 
The  gray  hat  the  Colonel  held  showed  a  hideously  greasy 
lining.  His  walking-stick,  a  cane  that  had  lost  its  varnish, 
had  stood,  no  doubt,  in  all  the  corners  of  the  cafes  of  Paris^ 
and  its  battered  ferrule  must  have  dipped  in  many  a  mud- 
heap.  From  a  stiff  velvet  collar  that  showed  the  paper  lining, 
rose  a  head  exactly  like  Frederick  Lemaitre  when  made  up  for 
the  last  act  of  la  Vie  d'un  Joiieur;  the  breakdown  of  a  still 
powerful  man  was  visible  in  a  coppery  complexion  that  looked 
green  in  patches.  Such  complexions  are  to  be  seen  in  the 
faces  of  debauchees  who  have  spent  many  nights  at  play ;  their 
eyes  are  surrounded  by  a  dark,  sooty  ring,  the  eyelids  vinous 
rather  than  red,  the  brow  ominous  from  all  the  ruin  it  betrays. 
Philippe's  cheeks  were  furrowed  and  hollow,  for  he  had 
scarcely  recovered  from  his  hospital  treatment.  His  head 
was  bald,  a  few  locks  left  at  the  back  ended  by  his  ears.  The 
pure  blue  of  his  glittering  eyes  had  assumed  a  cold,  steely  hue. 

"Good-morning,  uncle,"  said  he  in  a  husky  voice;  "I  am 
your  nephew,  Philippe  Bridau.  This  is  how  the  Bourbons 
treat  a  lieutenant-colonel,  a  veteran  of  the  old  army,  a  man 
who  carried  the  Emperor's  orders  at  the  battle  of  Montereau. 
I  should  be  ashamed  if  my  greatcoat  were  to  fall  open,  on 
mademoiselle's  account.  After  all,  it  is  the  rule  of  the  game  ! 
We  chose  to  begin  it  again,  and  we  were  beaten. — I  am  resid- 
ing in  your  town  by  orders  of  the  police,  on  full  pay  and 
allowances  of  sixty  francs  a  month.  So  the  good  people  of 
Issoudun  need  not  fear  that  I  shall  raise  the  price  of  victuals. 
— I  see  you  are  in  good  and  fair  compan}^" 

"Oh !  so  you  are  my  nephew    .    .       said  Jean-Jacques. 

"But  pray  ask  the  Colonel  to  stay  to  breakfast,"  said  Flore. 

"Xo,  madame,  thank  you,"  replied  Philippe ;  "I  have  break- 
fasted. Besides,  I  would  sooner  cut  my  hand  off  than  ask  my 
uncle  for  a  bit  of  bread  or  a  single  centime  after  what  hap- 
pened in  this  town  to  my  brother  and  my  mother.    At  the 


224 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


same  time,  I  did  not  think  it  seemly  that  I  should  live  in 
Issoudun  without  paying  my  respects  to  him  now  and  then. 
But  for  the  rest,  you  can  do  as  you  please/'  said  he,  holding 
out  his  hand,  in  which  Rouget  placed  his  for  Philippe  to 
shake,  "just  as  you  please;  I  shall  take  no  exception  so  long 
as  the  honor  of  the  Bridaus  is  untouched." 

Gilet  could  watch  the  Lieutenant-Colonel  at  his  leisure, 
for  Philippe  avoided  looking  in  his  direction  in  a  very  pointed 
way.  Though  the  blood  boiled  in  his  veins,  it  was  very  im- 
portant to  Max  that  he  should  behave  with  that  prudence  of 
great  diplomates  which  so  often  resembles  cowardice,  and  not 
flare  out  like  a  young  man ;  he  sat  calm  and  cold. 

"It  would  not  be  seemly,"  said  Flore,  "that  you  should  live 
on  sixty  francs  a  month  under  the  very  nose  of  your  uncle 
with  forty  thousand  francs  a  year,  and  who  has  behaved  so 
handsome  to  Monsieur  Gilet,  the  Captain  here,  his  natural 
half-brother  " 

"To  be  sure,  Philippe,"  said  the  old  fellow,  "we  must  see 
about  it." 

At  the  introduction  thus  affected  by  Flore,  Philippe  bowed 
almost  timidly  to  Gilet,  who  bowed  too. 

"Uncle,  I  have  some  pictures  here  to  return  to  you.  They 
are  at  Monsieur  Hochon's.  You  will,  I  hope,  do  me  the 
pleasure  of  coming  to  identify  them  some  day  or  other." 

Having  spoken  these  words  in  a  dry  tone.  Lieutenant - 
Colonel  Philippe  Bridau  went  away. 

His  visit  made  a  deeper  impression  on  Flore's  mind,  and 
on  Gilet's  too,  than  mere  dismay  at  the  first  sight  of  this 
dreadful  old  campaigner.  As  soon  as  Philippe  had  slammed 
the  door  with  the  violence  of  a  supplanted  heir,  Flore  and 
Gilet  hid  behind  the  curtains  to  watch  him  as  he  crossed  over 
from  his  uncle's  house  to  the  Hochons'. 

"What  a  blackguard !"  said  Flore,  with  a  questioning  glance 
at  Gilet. 

"Yes,  unfortunately  there  were  some  men  like  that  in  the 
Emperor's  armies ;  I  settled  seven  of  them  on  the  hulks/'  said 
Gilet. 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


225 


"I  hope  that  you  will  pick  no  quarrel  with  this  one,"  said 
Mademoiselle  Brazier. 

"That  one !"  retorted  Max.  "He  is  a  mangy  dog, — but 
he  would  like  a  bone/'  he  added,  addressing  old  Rouget.  "If 
his  uncle  will  trust  my  opinion,  he  will  get  rid  of  him  with  a 
present;  he  will  not  leave  you  in  peace.  Papa  Rouget." 

"He  smelt  of  horrible  tobacco,"  said  the  old  man. 

"He  smelt  your  money  too,"  said  Flore  in  a  peremptory 
tone.    "My  opinion  is  that  you  should  decline  to  receive  him^.^^  i 

"I  am  sure  I  am  quite  willing,"  said  the  old  man. 

"Monsieur,"  said  Gritte,  going  into  the  room  where  the 
Hochon  family  were  sitting  after  breakfast,  "here  is  that  Mon- 
sieur Bridau  you  spoke  about." 

Philippe  entered  with  much  politeness,  in  the  midst  of  per- 
fect silence,  produced  by  general  curiosity.  Madame  Hochon 
vshuddered  from  head  to  foot  on  beholding  the  author  of  all 
/Vgathe's  woes,  and  the  cause  of  good  old  Madame  Descoings' 
rleath.  Adolphine,  too,  was  unpleasantly  startled;  Baruch 
and  Francois  looked  at  each  other  with  surprise.  Old  Hochon 
preserved  his  presence  of  mind,  and  offered  Madame  Bridau's 
son  a  seat. 

"I  have  come,"  said  Philippe,  "to  recommend  myself  to 
your  good  graces,  for  I  have  to  arrange  matters  so  as  to  live 
i;a  this  town  for  five  years  on  sixty  francs  a  month  allowed  me 
by  France." 

"It  can  be  done,"  said  Monsieur  Hochon. 

Philippe  talked  on  indifferent  subjects,  and  conducted  him- 
self perfectly  well.  He  spoke  of  Lousteau  the  journalist,  the 
old  lady's  nephew,  as  a  perfect  eagle,  and  her  favor  was  com- 
pletely v/on  when  she  heard  him  declare  that  the  name  of 
Lousteau  would  be  famous.  Then  he  did  not  hesitate  to  con- 
fess the  errors  of  his  ways;  in  reply  to  a  friendly  reproof 
administered  by  Madame  Hochon  in  an  undertone,  he  said 
that  he  had  thought  much  while  in  prison,  and  promised  her 
to  be  quite  another  man  for  the  future. 

In  response  to  a  word  from  Philippe,  Monsieur  Hochon 
went  out  with  him-    When  the  miser  and  the  soldier  were  oa 


226 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


the  Boulevard  Baron^  at  a  spot  where  no  one  could  overhear 
them,  the  Colonel  said : — 

"Monsieur,  if  you  will  take  my  word  for  it,  we  had  better 
never  discuss  business  or  certain  persons  excepting  when  walk- 
ing out  in  the  country,  or  in  places  where  we  can  talk  with- 
out being  heard.  Maitre  Desroches  impressed  upon  me  how 
great  is  the  power  of  gossip  in  a  small  town.  I  do  not  wish 
that  you  should  be  suspected  of  helping  me  by  your  advicCj 
though  Desroches  enjoined  on  me  that  I  should  ask  it,  and 
I  beg  you  to  give  it  me  freely.  We  have  a  powerful  enemy 
opposed  to  us;  we  must  neglect  no  precaution  that  may 
enable  us  to  defeat  him.  To  begin  with,  excuse  me  if  I  call 
no  more.  A  little  distance  between  us  will  leave  you  clear 
of  any  suspicion  of  influencing  my  conduct.  When  I  require 
to  consult  you,  I  will  walk  past  your  house  at  half -past  nine, 
just  as  you  are  finishing  breakfast.  If  you  see  me  carrying 
my  stick  as  we  shoulder  arms^  that  will  convey  to  you  that 
we  are  to  meet  by  chance  at  some  spot  where  we  may  talk,  and 
which  you  will  tell  me  of." 

"All  that  seems  to  me  the  idea  of  a  prudent  man  who  means 
to  succeed,"  said  the  old  man. 

"And  I  shall  succeed,  monsieur.  To  begin  with,  can  you 
tell  me  of  any  officers  of  the  old  army  living  here  who  are  not 
allies  of  that  Maxence  Gilet,  and  with  whom  I  may  make 
acquaintance  ?" 

"There  is  a  Captain  of  the  Artillery  of  the  Guard,  a  Mon- 
sieur Mignonnet,  who  was  cadet  from  the  Ecole  Polytech- 
nique,  a  man  of  about  forty,  who  lives  quietly ;  he  is  a  man  of 
honor,  and  denounces  Max,  whose  conduct  seems  to  him 
unworthy  of  a  soldier." 

"Good  r  said  Philippe. 

"There  are  not  many  officers  of  that  stamp,"  Monsieur 
Hochon  went  on.  "I  can  think  of  no  one  else  but  a  cavalry 
captain." 

"That  was  my  corps,"  said  Philippe.  "Was  he  in  the 
Guards?" 

"Yes,"  said  Monsieur  Hochon.    "In  1810  Carpentier  was 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


227 


Quartermaster-General  of  the  Dragoons ;  he  left  that  regiment 
and  entered  the  Line  as  second  lieutenant,  where  he  rose  to 
be  captain." 

"Giroudeau  perhaps  may  know  him,"  thought  Philippe. 

^^Monsieur  Carpentier  took  the  place  at  the  Mairic  which 
Maxence  threw  up,  and  he  is  a  friend  of  Major  Mignon- 
net's." 

^*^And  what  can  I  do  here  for  my  living  ?" 

"I  believe  that  an  Insurance  Company  is  about  to  be  started 
for  the  Department  of  the  Cher ;  you  might  find  employment 
there,  but  it  would  not  be  more  than  fifty  francs  a  month  at 
the  best." 

"That  will  do  for  me." 

By  the  end  of  the  week  Philippe  had  a  new  coat,  waistcoat, 
and  trousers  of  blue  Elbeuf  cloth,  bought  on  credit  for  monthly 
payments;  boots  too,  leather  gloves,  and  a  hat.  Giroudeau 
sent  him  some  linen  from  Paris,  his  weapons,  and  a  letter  of 
introduction  to  Carpentier,  who  had  served  under  the  former 
Captain  of  Dragoons.  This  letter  secured  to  Philippe 
Carpentier's  good  offices,  and  he  introduced  him  to  Mignonnet 
as  a  man  of  the  highest  merit  and  noblest  character.  Philippe 
soon  won  the  admiration  of  these  two  worthy  officers  by  con- 
fiding to  them  some  details  of  the  conspiracy  for  which  he  had 
been  tried ;  it  had  been,  as  every  one  knows,  the  last  attempt 
of  the  old  army  to  rebel  against  the  Bourbons;  for  the  case 
of  the  Sergeants  of  la  Eochelle  falls  under  another  category. 

After  1822  the  soldiery,  who  had  learned  a  lesson  from  the 
fate  of  the  conspiracy  of  August  19th,  1820,  and  of  Berton's 
and  Caron's  plots,  made  up  their  mind  to  await  the  turn  of 
events.  This  last  scheme,  the  younger  sister  of  that  of  the 
19th  of  August,  was  identically  the  same,  but  recomposed  of 
better  elements.  Like  the  first,  it  was  kept  absolutely  secret 
from  the  King's  Government.  The  conspirators,  once  more 
found  out,  were  clever  enough  to  reduce  a  really  far-reaching 
enterprise  to  the  semblance  of  a  mere  petty  barrack  mutiny. 
The  north  of  France  was  to  be  the  scene  of  this  conspiracy, 
in  which  several  regiments  of  cavalry,  artillery,  and  infantry 


228 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


were  implicated.  The  frontier  fortresses  were  to  be  all  seized 
at  once  by  surprise.  In  the  event  of  success,  the  treatidfe  of 
1815  were  to  be  nullified  by  the  immediate  federation  of 
Belgium,  which  was  to  be  torn  from  the  Holy  Alliance  as  the 
outcome  of  a  military  compact  among  soldiers.  Two  thrones 
were  at  once  to  founder  in  this  swift  whirlwind. 

Of  this  formidable  scheme  planned  by  clever  heads,  with 
which  some  Great  Personages  v/ere  mixed  up,  nothing  came 
but  a  case  for  the  Supreme  Court.  Philippe  Bridau  con- 
sented to  screen  his  betters,  who  vanished  at  the  moment 
when  their  plans  were  discovered — either  by  some  treachery 
or  by  chance;  and  they,  in  their  seats  in  the  Chambers,  had 
only  promised  their  co-operation  to  crown  success  at  the  very 
heart  of  Government. 

To  relate  the  scheme  which  the  confessions  of  the  Liberals, 
in  1830,  divulged  in  all  its  depth,  and  in  its  immense  rami- 
fications, unknov/n  to  the  initiated  of  the  baser  class,  would 
be  to  intrude  on  the  domain  of  histor}^  and  would  lead  to  too 
long  a  digression.  This  outline  will  suffice  to  explain  the 
twofold  part  played  by  Philippe.  The  Emperor's  staff-officer 
was  to  have  led  an  outbreak  in  Paris,  intended  merely  to  mask 
the  real  conspiracy  and  to  keep  the  Government  busy  at  its 
centre,  while  the  great  movement  took  place  in  the  north. 
Afterwards  he  was  put  forward  to  break  the  connection  be- 
tween the  two  plots  by  betraying  only  some  unimportant 
secrets;  his  destitute  appearance  and  broken  health  were 
admirably  calculated  to  throw  discredit  and  contempt  on  the 
enterprise  in  the  eyes  of  the  authorities.  This  part  was  well 
suited  to  the  precarious  position  of  this  unprincipled  gambler. 
Feeling  that  he  had  one  foot  in  each  party,  the  wily  Philippe 
played  the  good  apostle  to  the  King's  Government,  and  yet  did 
not  lose  the  esteem  of  men  standing  high  in  his  own  party; 
but  he  promised  himself  that  at  a  future  day  he  would  follow 
up  the  line  that  might  offer  the  greater  advantages. 

These  revelations  as  to  the  vast  extent  of  the  real  con- 
spiracy made  Philippe  a  man  of  the  highest  importance  in 
the  eyes  of  Carpentier  and  Mignonnet,  for  his  devotedness 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


220 


showed  a  political  sense  worthy  of  the  best  days  of  the  Con- 
vention. Thus,  in  a  few  days,  the  cunning  Bonapartist  be- 
came the  iviend  of  these  two  men,  whose  respectability  cast 
its  reflection  on  him.  By  the  recommendation  of  Monsieur 
Carpentier  and  Monsieur  Mignonnet  he  at  once  got  the  ap- 
pointment mentioned  by  Hochon  in  the  Mutual  Insurance 
Society  of  the  Department  of  the  Cher.  His  work  was  to 
keep  the  books,  as  in  a  tax-collector's  office,  to  fill  in  printed 
circulars  with  names  and  numbers,  and  send  them  off,  and  to 
issue  policies  of  insurance;  thus  he  was  not  employed  for 
more  than  three  hours  daily. 

Mignonnet  and  Carpentier  secured  the  admission  of  this 
visitor  to  Issoudun  to  their  club,  where  his  air  and  manners, 
quite  in  accordance  v/ith  the  high  opinion  these  two  officers 
had  formed  of  this  leader  of  conspiracies,  gained  him  the 
respect  which  is  paid  to  often  deceptive  appearances.  Philippe, 
whose  conduct  w^as  the  result  of  much  deliberation,  had 
meditated  in  prison  on  the  disadvantages  of  a  dissolute  life. 
He  had  not  needed  Desroches'  lecture  to  perceive  the  necessity 
for  conciliating  the  good  opinion  of  the  tov/nspeople  by  honest, 
decent,  and  cleanly  conduct.  Delighted  to  cast  reflections  on 
Max  by  living  as  respectably  as  Mignonnet,  he  also  wished  to 
lull  Max  by  deceiving  him  as  to  his  character.  He  meant  to 
be  looked  upon  as  a  nincompoop,  by  affecting  disinterested 
generosity  while  circumventing  the  enemy  and  aiming  at  his 
uncle's  fortune;  whereas  his  mother  and  his  brother,  who  were 
really  disinterested,  generous,  and  magnanimous,  had  been 
accused  of  cunning  while  acting  with  artless  simplicity. 

Philippe's  greed  had  been  fired  in  proportion  to  his  uncle's 
wealth,  which  Monsieur  Hochon  expatiated  on  in  detail.  In 
the  first  private  conversation  he  had  held  with  this  old  man 
they  had  fully  agreed  that,  above  all  things,  Philippe  must  not 
rouse  Max's  suspicions ;  for  all  would  be  lost  if  Max  and  Flore 
carried  off  their  victim,  even  to  Bourges. 

Once  a  week  Colonel  Bridau  dined  with  Captain  Mignonnet, 
another  day  with  Carpentier,  and  every  Thursday  with  Mon- 
sieur Hochon.    He  was  soon  invited  to  other  houses,  and  by 


230  A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


the  end  of  three  weeks  had  only  his  breakfast  to  pay  for.  He 
never  mentioned  his  uncle,  nor  la  Eabouilleuse,  nor  Gilet, 
unless  it  were  to  make  some  inquiry  with  reference  to  his 
mother's  or  Joseph's  stay  in  the  town.  Finally,  the  three 
officers,  the  only  men  wearing  the  ribbon  of  the  Legion  of 
Honor — Philippe  having  the  superior  decoration  of  the 
rosette,  which  gave  him  a  marked  superiority  in  everybody's 
eyes,  very  noticeable  in  a  country  town — would  take  their 
daily  walk  together  at  the  same  hour  before  dinner,  keeping 
themselves  to  themselves,  to  use  a  homely  phrase. 

This  attitude,  this  reserve  and  calm  demeanor,  produced 
an  excellent  effect  in  Issoudun.  Max's  adherents  all  looked 
upon  Philippe  as  a  sahreur,  a  swashbuckler,  an  expression 
used  by  soldiers  to  attribute  the  coarsest  kind  of  courage  to 
a  superior  officer,  while  denying  him  the  capacity  for  com- 
mand. 

"He  is  a  very  respectable  man,"  said  the  elder  Goddet  to 
Max. 

"Pooh!"  replied  Captain  Gilet,  "his  behavior  before  the 
Court  shows  him  to  be  either  a  dupe  or  a  spy;  he  is,  as  you 
say,  fool  enough  to  have  been  the  dupe  of  those  who  were  play- 
ing for  high  stakes." 

After  getting  his  appointment,  Philippe,  aware  of  the 
gossip  of  the  place,  was  anxious  to  conceal  certain  facts  as  far 
as  possible  from  his  neighbors'  knowledge;  he  therefore  took 
rooms  in  a  house  at  the  end  of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Paterne, 
with  a  very  large  garden  attached.  There,  in  perfect  secrecy, 
he  would  practise  sword-play  with  Carpentier,  who  had  been 
instructor  in  a  regiment  of  foot  before  his  promotion  to  the 
Imperial  Guard.  After  having  thus  recovered  his  old  supe- 
riority, Philippe  learned  from  Carpentier  certain  secret  tricks 
which  would  enable  him  to  meet  the  most  accomplished  oppo- 
nent without  any  fear.  He  next  took  to  pistol  practice  with  Mi- 
gnonnet  and  Carpentier,  for  amusement,  as  he  said,  but  in  re- 
ality to  lead  Maxence  to  believe  that,  in  the  event  of  a  duel,  he 
relied  on  that  weapon.  Whenever  Philippe  met  Gilet  he  ex- 
pected him  to  salute,  and  renlied  by  lifting  the  front  of  his 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


231 


hat  with  his  finger  in  a  cavalier  fashion,  as  a  colonel  does  to 
a  private. 

Maxence  Gilet  never  gave  any  sign  of  annoyance  or  dis- 
satisfaction; he  never  uttered  a  single  word  on  the  subject  at 
la  Cognette's,  where  he  still  had  little  suppers,  though  since 
Fario's  knife-thrust  the  nocturnal  pranks  were  for  a  time 
pretermitted.  Still,  at  the  end  of  a  certain  time,  Lieutenant- 
Colonel  Bridau's  contempt  for  Major  Gilet  was  a  patent  fact, 
and  discussed  by  some  of  the  Knights  of  Idlesse  who  were  less 
closely  attached  to  Maxence  than  were  Baruch,  Frangois,  and 
two  or  three  more.  It  was  a  matter  of  general  surprise  to  see 
Max  the  vehement  and  fiery  behaving  so  meekly.  No  one  at 
Issoudun,  not  even  Potel  or  Eenard,  ventured  to  mention  so 
delicate  a  matter  to  Gilet.  Potel,  really  disturbed  by  such  a 
public  misunderstanding  between  two  officers  of  the  old  guard, 
represented  Max  as  quite  capable  of  hatching  some  plot  in 
which  the  Colonel  might  get  the  worst  of  it.  By  PoteFs 
account  some  new  pitfall  might  be  expected,  afte^  ivhat  Max 
liad  done  to  be  rid  of  the  mother  and  brother — for  the  Fario 
affair  was  no  longer  a  mystery.  Monsieur  Hochon  had  not 
failed  to  expose  Gilet^s  atrocious  game  to  all  the  wise  heads 
of  the  town.  Monsieur  Mouilleron,  too,  the  hero  of  a  piece 
of  town  gossip,  had  confidentially  revealed  the  name  of  Gilet's 
would-be  murderer,  if  only  to  find  out  the  causes  of  Fario's 
hatred  of  Max,  so  as  to  keep  justice  on  the  alert  in  case  of 
further  events.  Thus,  while  discussing  the  Colonel's  attitude 
towards  Max,  and  endeavoring  to  guess  what  might  come  of 
this  antagonism,  the  town  regarded  them  by  anticipation  as 
adversaries. 

Philippe,  who  was  anxiously  investigating  the  details  of  his 
brother's  arrest,  and  the  antecedent  history  of  Gilet  and  la 
Kabouilleuse,  ended  by  forming  a  somewhat  intimate  alliance 
with  Fario,  who  was  his  neighbor.  After  carefully  studying 
the  Spaniard,  Philippe  thought  he  might  trust  a  man  of  his 
temper.  Their  hatred  was  so  absolutely  in  unison  that  Fario 
placed  himself  at  Philippe's  service,  and  told  him  all  he 
knew  of  the  feats  of  the  Knights  of  Idlesse.    Philippe,  on  his 


232- 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


part,  promised  that,  if  he  should  succeed  in  obtaining  such 
influence  over  his  uncle  as  Gilet  now  exerted,  he  would  in- 
demnify Fario  for  all  his  losses,  and  thus  secured.his  fidelity. 
Maxence  had  therefore  a  formidable  enemy  to  meet — some  one 
who  could  talk  to  him,  as  they  say  in  those  parts.  The  town 
of  Issoudun,  excited  by  rumor,  foresaw  a  struggle  between 
these  two  men  who,  be  it  observed,  held  each  other  in  utter 
contempt. 

One  morning,  towards  the  end  of  November,  Philippe,  meet- 
ing Monsieur  Hochon  at  noon  in  the  Avenue  de  Frapesle,  said 
to  him: 

"I  have  discovered  that  your  grandsons  Baruch  and  Fran- 
gois  are  the  intimate  allies  of  Maxence  Gilet.  The  young 
rogues  take  part  at  night  in  all  the  pranks  played  in  the  town. 
And  so,  through  them,  Maxence  knew  everything  that  went 
on  in  your  house  when  my  brother  and  mother  were  staying 
with^you.'^ 

"And  what  proof  have  you  of  anything  so  shocking  ?" 

"I  heard  them  talking  at  night  as  they  came  out  of  a  taven', 
Your  two  grandsons  each  owe  Maxence  a  thousand  crown?*, 
The  villain  desired  the  poor  boys  to  find  out  what  our  plan;? 
are.  He  reminded  them  that  it  was  you  who  proposed  to  be- 
siege my  uncle  through  the  priesthood,  and  said  that  no  one 
could  advise  me  but  you — for,  happily,  he  regards  me  as  a 
mere  fighting-cock." 

"What !    My  grandchildren    .  . 

"Watch  them,"  said  Philippe;  "you  will  see  them  coming 
home  to  the  Place  Saint-Jean  at  two  or  three  in  the  morning, 
as  sodden  as  champagne-corks,  and  walking  with  Maxence." 

"So  that  is  why  the  rascals  are  so  abstemious !"  said  Mon- 
sieur Hochon. 

"Fario  told  me  something  of  their  nocturnal  habits,"  said 
Philippe.  "But  for  him  I  should  never  have  guessed  it. — 
My  uncle  is  evidently  oppressed  by  the  most  horrible  tyranny, 
to  judge  from  the  few  words  my  Spaniard  overheard  Max 
saying  to  your  boys.    I  suspect  that  Max  and  la  Rabouilleuse 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


233 


have  a  plan  for  grabbing  the  State  securities  for  fifty  thou- 
sand francs  a  year  and  going  off  to  be  married  I  don't  know 
where,  after  plucking  that  wing  from  the  pigeon.  It  is  high 
time  to  find  out  what  is  going  on  in  my  uncle's  house,  but  I 
do  not  know  how  to  set  about  it." 

"I  will  think  it  over,"  said  the  old  man. 

Philippe  and  Monsieur  Hochon  then  went  opposite  ways, 
seeing  other  people  approaching. 

Never,  at  any  period  of  his  life,  had  Jean- Jacques  Eouget 
been  so  miserable  as  since  his  nephew  Philippe's  first  visit. 
Flore,  in  great  terror,  had  a  presentiment  of  some  danger 
hanging  over  Max.  Tired  of  her  master,  and  fearing  that  he 
would  live  to  a  great  age,  as  her  criminal  practices  had  so 
little  effect  on  him,  she  hit  on  the  very  simple  plan  of  leaving 
the  place  and  going  to  Paris  to  be  married  to  Maxence,  after 
extracting  from  Rouget  the  bonds  bearing  fifty  thousand 
francs  a  year.  The  old  fellow,  warned  not  indeed  by  any 
care  for  his  heirs,  nor  by  personal  avarice,  but  by  his  passion 
for  Flore,  refused  to  give  her  the  securities,  pointing  out  that 
he  had  left  her  everything.  The  unhappy  man  knew  how 
devotedly  she  loved  Maxence,  and  he  foresav/  that  she  would 
desert  him  as  soon  as  she  should  be  rich  enough  to  marry. 
When,  after  lavishing  her  tenderest  coaxing,  Flore  found  her 
request  denied,  she  tried  severity:  she  never  spoke  to  her 
master,  she  sent  Vedie  to  wait  upon  him,  and  the  woman  one 
morning  found  the  old  man  with  his  eyes  red  from  having 
wept  all  night.  For  a  week  Pere  Eouget  had  his  breakfast 
alone,  and  heaven  knows  how ! 

So,  the  day  after  his  conversation  with  Monsieur  Hochon, 
when  Philippe  paid  his  uncle  a  second  visit,  he  found  him 
much  altered.  Flore  remained  in  the  room  near  the  old  man, 
on  w^hom  she  shed  tender  glances,  speaking  kindly  to  him, 
and  playing  the  farce  so  well,  that  Philippe  understood  the 
dangers  of  the  situation  merely  from  the  solicitude  paraded 
for  his  benefit.  Gilet,  whose  policy  it  was  to  avoid  any  col- 
lision with  Philippe,  did  not  appear.  After  studying  Pere 
Rouget  and  Flore  with  a  keen  eye,  the  Colonel  decided  on  a 
bold  stroke. 


234  A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


^'Good-bye,  my  dear  uncle/'  he  said,  rising,  so  as  to  seen> 
about  to  leave. 

"Oh,  do  not  go  yet/'  cried  the  old  man,  who  was  basking 
in  Flore's  pretended  affection.    "Dine  with  us,  Philippe." 

"I  will,  if  you  will  first  take  an  hour's  walk  with  me." 

"Monsieur  is  very  ailing,"  said  Mademoiselle  Brazier.  "He 
would  not  go  out  driving  just  now,"  she  added,  turning  to 
the  old  man,  and  looking  at  him  with  the  fixed  gaze  that  some- 
times quells  a  madman. 

Philippe  took  Flore  by  the  arm,  made  her  look  at  him,  and 
gazed  at  her  just  as  fixedly  as  she  had  stared  at  her  victim. 

"Tell  me,  mademoiselle,"  said  he,  "am  I  to  infer  that  my 
uncle  is  not  free  to  come  for  a  walk  alone  with  me." 

"Of  course  he  is,  monsieur,"  said  Flore,  who  could  hardly 
make  any  other  reply. 

"Well,  then,  come,  uncle.  Now,  mademoiselle,  give  him  his 
hat  and  stick." 

"But,  as  a  rule,  he  never  goes  out  without  me.  Do  yoU;> 
monsieur  ?" 

"Yes,  Philippe,  yes ;  I  always  want  her  " 

"We  had  better  go  in  the  carriage,"  said  Flore. 

"Yes,  let  us  go  in  the  carriage,"  cried  the  old  man  in  his 
anxiety  to  reconcile  his  two  tyrants. 

"Uncle,  you  will  come  for  a  walk,  and  with  me,  or  I  come 
here  no  more.  For  the  town  will  be  in  the  right;  you  are 
under  Mademoiselle  Flore  Brazier's  thumb. — My  uncle  loves 
you,  well  and  good,"  he  went  on,  fixing  a  leaden  eye  on  Flore. 
"You  do  not  love  him — that  too  is  quite  in  order.  But  that 
you  should  make  the  old  man  miserable  ?  There  we  draw  the 
line.  Those  who  want  to  inherit  a  fortune  must  earn  it. — Now, 
uncle,  are  you  coming?" 

Philippe  saw  an  agony  of  hesitancy  depicted  on  the  face  of 
the  poor  helpless  creature,  whose  eyes  wandered  first  to  Flore 
and  then  to  his  nephew. 

"So  that  is  how  it  stands  !"  said  the  Colonel.  "Very  good ! 
Good-bye,  uncle.    As  for  you,  mademoiselle — your  servant !" 

He  turned  round  quickly  as  he  reached  the  door,  and  again 
detected  a  threatening  gesture  from  Flore  to  his  uncle. 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


235 


"TJnci'e/'  said  he,  "if  you  will  come  for  a  walk  with  Jiie,  I 
will  meet  you  at  your  door.  I  am  going  to  Monsieur  Hochon 
for  ten  minutes.  ...  If  you  and  I  do  not  get  our  walk, 
I  will  back  myself  to  send  some  people  walking  I  could  name." 

And  Philippe  crossed  the  avenue  to  call  on  the  Ilochons. 

Any  one  can  imagine  the  scene  in  the  family  which  re- 
sulted from  Philippe's  revelation  to  Monsieur  Ilochon.  At 
nine  o'clock  that  morning  old  Monsieur  Heron  had  made  his 
appearance  with  a  bundle  of  paj^ers,  and  found  a  fire  in  the 
large  room,  lighted  by  the  master's  orders,  quite  against  the 
general  rule.  Madame  Hochon,  dressed  at  this  unconscion- 
able hour,  was  sitting  in  her  armchair  by  the  fire.  The  two 
grandsons,  warned  by  Adolphine  of  a  storm  gathering  over 
their  heads  since  yesterday,  had  been  ordered  to  stay  at  home. 
Having  been  summoned  by  Gritte,  they  were  chilled  by  the 
paraphernalia  of  ceremony  displayed  by  their  grandparents, 
whose  cold  wrath  had  hung  over  them  for  the  past  twenty- 
four  hours. 

"Do  not  rise  for  them,'^  said  the  old  man  to  Monsieur 
Heron.  "You  see  before  you  two  wretches  unworthy  of  for- 
giveness." 

"Oh !  grandpapa  !"  said  Frangois. 

"Silence,"  said  the  solemn  old  man.  "I  know  all  about 
your  life  at  night  and  your  intimacy  with  Monsieur  Maxence 
Gilet;  but  you  will  not  meet  him  again  at  la  Cognette's  at 
one  in  the  morning,  for  you  are  not  to  go  out  of  this  house 
again  till  you  set  out  for  your  respective  destinations. — So 
you  ruined  Fario  ?  You  have  many  a  time  been  within  an  ace 
of  finding  yourselves  in  a  criminal  court  ? — Be  silent !"  he  ex- 
claimed, seeing  Baruch  open  his  mouth.  "You  both  owe 
money  to  Monsieur  Maxence,  who  for  six  years  past  has  been 
supplying  you  with  it  for  your  debaucheries. — Listen,  now,  to 
the  accounts  of  my  guardianship;  we  will  talk  afterwards. 
You  will  see  from  these  documents  whether  you  can  play  tricks 
with  me,  play  tricks  on  the  family  and  the  laws  of  family 
honor  by  betraying  the  secrets  of  the  house,  and  repeating 
to  Monsieur  Maxence  Gilet  what  is  said  and  done  in  it !  For 


236 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


a  thousand  crowns  you  play  the  spy !  For  ten  thousand  you 
would  no  doubt  commit  murder!  Indeed,  did  you  not 
almost  kill  Madame  Bridau?  for  Monsieur  Gilet  knew  full 
well  that  it  was  Fario  who  had  stabbed  him  when  he  accused 
my  guest  Monsieur  Joseph  Bridau  of  the  attempt.  And 
when  that  gallows-bird  committed  such  a  crime,  it  was  because 
he  had  learned  from  you  that  Madame  Agathe  intended  to  re- 
main here. — ^You,  my  grandsons,  to  play  the  spy  for  such  a 
man !  You,  street-bullies !  Did  you  not  know  that  your 
worthy  chief  already,  in  1806,  had  caused  the  death  of  a  poor 
young  creature?  I  will  have  no  assassins  or  robbers  in  my 
house.  You  will  just  pack  up  your  things  and  go  elsewhere 
to  be  hanged !" 

The  two  young  men  were  as  white  and  rigid  as  plaster 
■j  mages. 

"Begin,  Monsieur  Heron,^'  said  the  miser  to  the  notary. 
The  old  lawyer  read  out  an  account  of  Hochon's  guardian- 
aip,  whence  it  appeared  that  the  entire  unencumbered  for- 
me of  the  two  Borniche  children  amounted  to  seventy  thou- 
ind  francs,  the  money  settled  on  their  mother ;  but  Monsieur 
'lochon  had  lent  his  daughter  considerable  sums,  and,  as 
epresenting  the  lenders,  had  a  lien  on  part  of  his  grand- 
children's fortune.    The  share  remaining  to  Baruch  came  to 
twenty  thousand  francs. 

"There,  you  are  a  rich  man,"  said  his  grandfather.  "Take 
your  money  and  walk  alone !  I  remain  free  to  bestow  my 
wealth  and  Madame  Hochon's — for  she  agrees  with  me  on 
every  point  in  this  matter — on  whomsoever  I  please,  on  our 
dear  Adolphine.  Yes,  she  shall  marry  a  peer's  son  if  we  choose, 
for  she  will  have  all  we  possess  !" 

"And  a  very  fine  fortune  it  is,"  added  Monsieur  Heron. 
"Monsieur  Maxence  Gilet  will  indemnify  you !"  said  Mad- 
ame Hochon. 

"I  see  myself  scraping  twenty-sous  pieces  together  for  such 
a  coiTple  of  ne'er-do-weels  !"  exclaimed  Monsieur  Hochon. 
"Forgive  me,"  stammered  Baruch. 

"Forgive  me  this  once,  and  never  no  more/'  repeated  the 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


2?7 


old  man,  mocking  the  voice  of  a  child.  "Yes,  and  if  I  forgive 
you,  off  you  go  to  Monsieur  Maxence  to  tell  him  what  has 
befallen  you  and  put  him  on  his  guard.  .  .  .  No,  no,  my 
little  gentlemen.  I  shall  have  means  of  knowing  how  you 
conduct  yourselves.  As  you  behave,  I  shall  behave.  It  is  not 
by  the  good  conduct  of  a  day  or  of  a  month  that  I  shall  judge 
you,  but  by  that  of  many  years.  I  am  strong  on  my  feet,  hale 
and  hearty.  I  hope  to  live  long  enough  yet  to  see  which  way 
you  go. — You,  the  capitalist/'  he  added  to  Baruch,  "will  go  to 
Paris  to  study  banking  with  Monsieur  Mongenod.  Woe  to 
you  there  if  you  do  not  walk  straight :  they  will  keep  an  eye 
on  you.  Your  money  is  in  the  hands  of  Mongenod  &  Sons; 
here  is  a  cheque  on  them  for  the  whole  sum.  So  now  release 
me  by  signing  your  account,  which  is  closed  by  a  receipt  in 
full,"  said  he,  taking  the  paper  out  of  Heron's  hands  and  giv- 
ing it  to  Baruch, 

"As  for  you,  Frangois  Hochon,  you  owe  me  money  instead 
of  having  any  to  receive,"  said  the  old  man,  addressing  his 
other  grandson.  "Monsieur  Heron,  will  you  read  him  his 
statement ;  it  is  clear — quite  clear." 

The  reading  took  place  in  utter  silence. 

"I  am  sending  you  to  Poitiers,  with  six  hundred  francs  a 
year,  to  study  law,"  said  his  grandfather,  when  the  notary 
ended.  "I  was  prepared  to  make  life  easy  for  you;  now  you. 
must  become  an  advocate  to  make  your  living.  Ah,  ha !  my 
young  rascals,  for  six  years  you  have  taken  me  in !  Well,  it 
took  me  just  an  hour  in  my  turn  to  overtake  you.  I  have 
seven-league  boots !" 

J ust  as  old  Monsieur  Heron  was  leaving,  carrying  with  him 
the  signed  releases,  Gritte  announced  Monsieur  le  Colonel 
Philippe  Bridau.  Madame  Hochon  left  the  room,  taking  her 
grandsons  with  her  "to  the  confessional,"  as  old  Hochon  ex- 
pressed it,  and  to  ascertain  what  effect  this  scene  had  had  on 
them. 

Philippe  and  the  old  man  went  to  the  window  and  talked 
in  low  tones. 

"I  have  been  considering  the  position  of  your  affairs,"  said 


238 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


Monsieur  Hochon,  looking  across  to  the  house  opposite.  "1 
have  just  been  talking  them  over  with  Monsieur  Heron.  The 
bond  bearing  fifty  thousand  francs  interest  can  only  be  sold 
by  the  holder  himself,  or  by  his  order.  Now,  since  you  came, 
your  uncle  has  signed  no  such  order  in  any  lawyer's  office ;  and 
as  he  has  not  been  out  of  Issoudun,  he  has  signed  none  else- 
where. If  he  gave  any  one  a  power  of  attorney  in  this  place, 
we  should  know  of  it  at  once ;  if  he  did  it  elsewhere,  we  should 
hear  of  it  all  the  same,  for  it  would  have  to  be  stamped,  and 
our  good  Monsieur  Heron  has  means  of  information.  So  if 
the  old  man  should  go  out  of  the  town,  follow  him,  find  out 
where  he  has  been,  and  we  will  take  steps  to  discover  what  he 
has  done." 

"The  power  has  not  been  given,"  said  Philippe.  "They  are 
tr3dng  for  it,  but  I  hope  to  prevent  its  being  executed.  No, 
it  will  not  be  executed !"  cried  Philippe,  seeing  his  uncle  ap- 
pear on  his  doorstep.  He  pointed  him  out  to  Monsieur 
Hochon,  and  hastily  told  him  of  the  events — so  trivial  and  so 
important — of  his  visit  to  Eouget.  "Maxence  is  afraid  of 
me,"  he  added,  "but  he  cannot  keep  out  of  my  way.  Mi- 
gnonnet  tells  me  that  all  the  officers  of  the  old  army  keep  high 
festival  at  Issoudun  every  year  on  the  anniversary  of  the  Em- 
peror's coronation.  Well,  then,  two  days  hence  Max  and  I 
must  meet." 

"If  he  can  get  the  power  of  attorney  by  the  morning  of 
the  1st  of  December,  he  will  be  off  to  Paris  by  the  mail,  and 
leave  the  anniversary  to  take  care  of  itself." 

"True;  then  I  must  get  hold  of  my  uncle;  but  I  have  an 
eye  that  settles  idiots,"  said  Philippe,  making  Monsieur 
Hochon  quail  under  a  villainous  glare. 

"If  they  are  allowing  him  to  walk  out  with  you,  Maxence 
has  no  doubt  hit  on  some  other  plan  for  winning  the  game,'^ 
said  the  old  miser. 

"Oh!  Fario  is  on  the  watch,"  replied  Philippe,  "and  not 
only  he.  The  Spaniard  discovered  for  me,  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  Vatan,  one  of  my  old  soldiers  to  whom  I  once  did  a 
service.    No  one  suspects  that  Benjamin  Bourdet  is  at  the 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


239 


Spaniard's  orders,  and  Fario  has  placed  one  of  his  horses 
at  Benjamin's  service." 

"If  you  were  to  kill  the  monster  who  perverted  my  grand- 
sons, you  would  be  really  doing  a  good  action." 

"By  this  time,  thanks  to  me,  all  Issoudun  knows  what 
Monsieur  Maxence  has  been  at  by  night  for  these  six  years 
past,"  replied  Philippe,  "and  tongues  are  wagging  about  him 
pretty  freely.    Morally  he  is  a  ruined  man." 

The  moment  Philippe  had  left  his  uncle,  Flore  went  to 
Max's  room  to  relate  to  him  the  smallest  details  of  the  visit 
paid  by  this  audacious  nephew. 

"What  is  to  be  done  ?"  said  she. 

"Before  having  recourse  to  extreme  measures,  which  would 
be  a  duel  with  that  long  corpse  of  a  man,"  replied  Maxence, 
"we  must  play  for  double  or  quits  by  a  daring  stroke.  Let 
the  old  simpleton  go  out  with  his  nephew." 

"But  that  great  hound  does  not  beat  about  the  bush,"  cried 
Flore;  "he  will  call  a  spade  a  spade." 

"Just  attend  to  me,"  said  Maxence,  in  his  most  strident 
tones.  "Do  you  suppose  that  I  have  not  listened  at  doors 
and  considered  our  position  ?  Send  to  old  Cognet  for  a  con- 
veyance and  a  horse,  now,  this  minute !  All  must  be  done  in 
five  minutes.  Put  all  that  is  yours  into  the  cart,  take  Vedie, 
and  be  off  to  Vatan;  take  the  twenty  thousand  francs  he  has 
in  his  desk.  If  I  bring  the  old  boy  to  Vatan,  do  not  consent 
to  return  here  till  he  has  signed  the  power  of  attorney.  Then 
I  will  sneak  off  to  Paris  while  you  come  back  to  Issoudun. — 
When  Jean- Jacques  comes  in  from  his  walk  and  finds  that 
you  are  gone,  he  will  lose  his  head  and  want  to  run  after  you. 
Very  good — and  I  will  talk  to  him  then !" 

While  this  plot  was  being  laid,  Philippe,  arm  in  arm  with 
his  uncle,  had  taken  him  for  a  walk  on  the  Boulevard  Baron. 

"There  are  two  great  schemers  at  loggerheads,"  said  old 
Hochon  to  himself,  watching  the  Colonel  supporting  his  uncle. 
*'I  am  curious  to  see  the  end  of  this  game,  where  the  stake  is 
ninety  thousand  francs  a  year." 

"My  dear  uncle,"  said  Philippe,  whose  phraseology  had 


240 


A  BACHELOR^S  ESTABLISHMENT 


some  flavor  of  his  Paris  associates,  '^jou  are  in  love  with  that 
minx,  and  you  show  devilish  good  taste,  for  she  is  a  stunning 
armful.  Instead  of  cosseting  you,  she  makes  you  trot  round 
like  her  footman — and  that  again  is  natural  enough;  she 
would  like  to  see  you  six  feet  under  the  daisies  to  marry 

Maxence,  whom  she  worships  " 

"Yes,  Philippe,  I  know  all  that,  but  I  love  her  all  the 
same/' 

"Well,  I  have  svv  orn  by  my  mother's  body — and  she  is  3'our 
sister,  sure  enough,"  Philippe  went  on, — "to  make  your  Ea- 
bouilleuse  as  pliant  as  my  glove,  and  just  what  she  must  have 
been  before  that  blackguard,  who  is  unworthy  ever  to  have 
served  in  the  Imperial  Guard,  came  sponging  on  your  house- 
hold " 

"Oh !  if  you  could  only  do  that !"  said  the  old  man. 

"It  is  easy  enough,"  replied  Philippe,  cutting  him  short. 
"I  will  kill  Maxence  like  a  dog — but — on  one  condition." 

"What  is  that?"  asked  old  Kouget,  looking  at  his  nephew 
with  a  blank  expression. 

"Do  not  sign  the  povrer  of  attorney  they  are  asking  for  be- 
fore the  3rd  of  December;  drag  on  only  till  then.  Those  two 
vultures  want  your  license  to  sell  out  your  stock  of  fifty  thou- 
sand francs  a  year,  solely  to  go  and  get  married  in  Paris,  and 
there  have  a  high  time  with  your  million." 

"I  am  very  much  afraid  of  it,"  said  Rouget. 

"Well,  then,  whatever  they  may  do  to  you,  put  off  signing 
it  till  next  week." 

"Yes,  but  when  Flore  talks  to  me  she  upsets  me  so  that 
it  turns  my  brain.  I  tell  you,  she  has  a  way  of  looking  at  me 
that  makes  her  blue  eyes  seem  like  Paradise,  and  I  am  no 
longer  my  own  master,  particularly  as  there  are  days  when 
she  leaves  me  in  disgrace." 

"Well,  if  she  is  all  honey,  just  be  satisfied  to  promise  her 
the  document,  and  give  me  notice  the  day  before  you  sign  it. 
Maxence  will  never  be  your  representative — ^unless  he  has 
killed  me.  If  I  kill  him,  you  may  take  me  to  live  with  you 
in  his  place,  and  I  will  make  your  beauty  dance  at  a  word  or 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT  24] 


a  look.  Yes,  Flore  shall  be  fond  of  you,  or,  by  God,  if  she 
vexes  you,  I  will  give  her  a  hiding." 

"Oh!  that  I  would  never  allow.  A  blow  to  Flore  would 
fall  on  my  heart." 

"And  yet  it  is  the  only  way  to  train  a  woman  or  a  horse. 
A  man  who  makes  himself  feared  is  loved  and  obeyed.  This 
is  all  I  wanted  to  say  in  your  private  ear. — Good-morning, 
gentlemen,"  said  he  to  Mignonnet  and  Carpentier.  "I  am 
taking  my  uncle  for  a  little  walk  you  see,  and  trying  to  teach 
him ;  for  we  live  in  an  age  when  the  young  people  are  obliged 
to  educate  their  grandparents." 

Greetings  were  exchanged. 

"You  behold  in  my  dear  uncle  the  results  of  an  unfortunate 
passion,^'  the  Colonel  went  on.  "He  is  about  to  be  despoiled 
of  his  fortune  and  left  stripped  like  Baba — ^you  know  to  whom 
I  allude.  The  good  man  knows  of  the  plot,  but  he  cannot 
make  up  his  mind  to  do  without  his  Nanna  for  a  few  days 
to  baffle  her,"  and  Philippe  frankly  explained  the  position  in 
which  his  uncle  stood. 

"You  see,  gentlemen,"  said  he  in  conclusion,  "that  there 
are  not  two  ways  of  setting  my  uncle  free.  Colonel  Bridau 
must  kill  Major  Gilet,  or  Major  Gilet  must  kill  Colonel 
Bridau.  The  day  after  to-morrow  is  the  anniversary  of  the 
Emperor's  coronation ;  I  count  on  you  so  to  arrange  the  seats 
at  the  banquet  that  I  may  be  opposite  to  Major  Gilet.  You 
will,  I  hope,  do  me  the  honor  to  act  as  my  seconds." 

"We  will  put  you  in  the  chair  and  sit  on  each  side  of  you. 
Max,  as  vice-president,  will  be  opposite  to  you,"  said  Mignon- 
net. 

"Oh,  the  scoundrel  will  have  Major  Potel  and  Captain 
Eenard  for  his  seconds,"  said  Carpentier.  "In  spite  of  all 
that  is  rumored  in  the  tovm  about  his  nocturnal  excursions, 
those  two  capital  fellows  have  stood  by  him  before  now ;  they 
will  be  faithful  to  him  " 

"You  see,  uncle,  how  well  the  pot  is  simmering,"  said 
Philippe.    "Sign  nothing  before  the  3rd,  for,  by  the  day  after^ 


242 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


you  shall  be  free,  happy,  adored  by  Flore^,  and  rid  of  your 
finance  minister/^ 

"You  do  not  know  him,  nephew,^^  exclaimed  Eouget  in 
dismay.    "Max  has  killed  nine  men  in  duels." 

"Yes,  but  he  was  not  robbing  them  of  a  hundred  thousan(? 
francs  a  year,"  replied  Philippe. 

"A  bad  conscience  spoils  a  man's  hand,"  said  Mignonnet 
aententiously. 

"Within  a  few  days,"  said  Philippe,  "you  and  la  Eabouil- 
ieuse  will  be  living  together  like  hearts  a  la  fleur  d'orange, 
as  soon  as  she  has  got  over  her  grief ;  for  she  will  wriggle  like 
a  worm,  and  yelp,  and  melt  into  tears ;  but  let  the  tap  run !" 

The  two  officers  supported  Philippe's  arguments,  and  tried 
their  utmost  to  put  some  heart  into  Pere  Eouget,  with  whom 
they  walked  for  about  two  hours.  At  last  Philippe  escorted 
his  uncle  home,  saying  as  his  last  word :  "Come  to  no  decision 
without  consulting  me.  I  know  what  women  are.  I  paid 
for  one  more  dearly  than  Flore  will  ever  cost  you.  And  she 
taught  me  how  to  manage  the  fair  sex  for  the  rest  of  my  days. 
Women  are  just  naughty  children;  they  are  inferior  animals 
to  men;  we  must  make  them  afraid  of  us,  for  our  worst  fate 
is  to  be  led  by  the  nose  by  those  little  brutes !" 

It  was  about  two  in  the  afternoon  when  the  old  man  went 
in.  Kouski  opened  the  door  to  him,  in  tears,  or,  at  any  rate, 
in  obedience  to  Maxence^s  orders,  seeming  to  weep. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  asked  Jean- Jacques. 

"Oh,  monsieur !  madame  is  gone  away  with  Vedie.'* 

"Go-o-one  ?"  said  the  old  man,  in  a  voice  of  anguish. 

The  blow  was  so  tremendous,  that  Eouget  sat  down  on  one 
of  the  steps  of  the  stairs.  A  moment  after,  he  rose,  looked  in 
the  sitting-room,  in  the  kitchen,  went  up  to  his  own  room, 
walked  through  all  the  bedrooms,  came  back  into  the  sitting- 
room,  sank  into  an  armchair,  and  burst  into  tears. 

"Where  is  she?"  he  cried,  in  the  midst  of  sobs.  "Where 
is  she?    Where  is  Max?" 

"I  do  not  know,"  replied  Kouski.  "TJie  Major  went  out 
without  saying  a  word/' 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


243 


Gilet,  very  astutely,  had  thought  it  diplomatic  to  wander 
round  the  town.  By  leaving  the  old  man  alone  in  his  despair, 
he  made  him  feel  how  deserted  he  was,  and  so  made  him 
amenable  to  his  counsels.  But  to  hinder  Philippe  from  sup- 
porting his  uncle  at  this  crisis,  Max  had  desired  Kouski  to 
let  no  one  into  the  house.  Flore  being  away,  the  old  man  had 
neither  bit  nor  bridle,  and  the  situation  was  excessively 
critical. 

During  his  walk  through  the  town  Max  saw  himself  avoided 
by  many  persons  who,  only  the  day  before,  would  have  been 
most  eager  to  come  and  shake  hands  with  him.  There  was  a 
general  reaction  against  him.  The  feats  of  the  Knights  of 
Idlesse  were  on  every  tongue.  The  story  of  Joseph  Bridau^s 
arrest,  which  was  now  explained,  cast  dishonor  on  Max,  whose 
life  and  deeds  had,  in  this  one  day,  met  with  their  due  reward. 
Gilet  met  Major  Potel,  who  was  looking  for  him,  and  who  wae 
quite  beside  himself. 

"What  is  wrong,  Potel?'' 

"My  dear  fellow,  the  Imperial  Guard  is  blackguarded  all 
through  the  town !  The  very  clerks  are  abusing  you,  and  that 
rebounds  on  me,  and  goes  to  my  heart." 

"What  are  they  complaining  of  ?"  asked  Max. 

"Of  the  tricks  you  played  at  night.'' 

"As  if  a  little  amusement  were  forbidden  

"Oh !  that  is  nothing,"  said  Potel. 

Potel  was  an  officer  of  the  stamp  of  those  who  said  to  st 
burgomaster,  "Pooh !  if  we  burn  your  town,  we  will  pay  foi' 
it  I"  so  he  was  not  much  concerned  by  the  pranks  of  the 
Order. 

"What  else?"  said  Gilet. 

"The  Guard  is  divided  against  itself !  That  is  what  breaks 
my  heart.  It  is  Bridau  who  has  unchained  the  town  against 
you.  The  Guard  against  the  Guard  ?  N'o ;  that  is  all  wrong. 
You  cannot  retreat,  Max;  you  must  meet  Bridau.  I  declare 
I  longed  to  pick  a  quarrel  with  that  great  scoundrel,  and  settle 
him  out  of  hand ;  then  these  black  coats  would  not  have  seen 
the  Guard  against  the  Guard.    In  war  I  say  nothing  against 


I 


244  A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 

it;  two  brave  fellows  have  a  squabble,  they  fight  it  out,  and 
there  are  no  counter-jumpers  by  to  laugh  them  to  scorn. — No, 
that  long  rascal  never  was  in  the  Guards.  A  man  of  the  Guard 
ought  not  to  behave  so  before  all  these  townsfolk  against 
another  man  of  the  Guard.  Oh  !  the  Guard  is  scoffed  at,  and 
at  Issoudun  too,  where  it  used  to  be  respected !" 

"Come,  Potel,  do  not  fuss  over  nothing,"  said  Max.  "Even 
if  you  should  not  see  me  at  the  anniversary  dinner  " 

"What!  you  are  not  coming  to  Lacroix's  the  day  after  to-, 
morrow?"  cried  Potel,  interrupting  his  friend.  "Why,  you 
will  be  called  a  coward;  you  will  seem  to  be  keeping  out  of 
Bridau's  way!  No,  no.  The  foot  grenadiers  of  the  Guard 
must  not  retreat  before  the  dragoons  of  the  Guard !  Arrange 
your  other  business  as  you  will,  but  be  there  !" 

"One  more  to  send  to  the  shades?"  said  Max.  "Come,  I 
think  I  can  manage  my  business  and  be  there  too. — For,"  said 
he  to  himself,  "the  power  of  attorney  must  not  be  made  out  to 
me.  As  old  Heron  said,  that  would  look  too  much  like 
robbery." 

The  lion,  thus  entangled  in  the  net  laid  for  him  by  Philippe 
Bridau,  set  his  teeth  with  an  inward  quiver;  he. avoided  the 
eye  of  the  persons  he  met,  and  went  home  by  the  Boulevard 
Villate,  muttering  as  he  walked.  "Before  I  fight  I  will  get 
those  securities,"  said  he  to  himself.  "If  I  fall,  that  money, 
at  any  rate,  shall  not  go  to  that  Philippe.  I  will  have  it 
placed  in  Flore's  name.  By  my  advice  the  child  must  go 
straight  to  Paris ;  and  there,  if  she  likes,  she  may  marry  the 
son  of  some  marshal  who  has  had  the  sack.  I  will  have  the 
power  of  attorney  made  out  to  Baruch,  who  will  not  transfer 
the  stock  without  my  orders." 

We  must  do  Max  the  justice  to  say  that  he  never  looked 
calmer  than  when  his  blood  and  brain  were  seething.  Never 
in  any  soldier  were  the  qualities  that  make  a  great  general 
comlDined  in  a  higher  degree.  If  he  had  not  been  checked  in 
his  career  by  being  taken  prisoner,  the  Emperor  would  have 
found  in  this  fellow  a  man  of  the  sort  needful  to  a  vast  enter- 
prise. 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


245 


On  going  into  the  room  where  the  victim  of  all  these  tragi- 
comic scenes  still  sat  sobbing,  Max  inquired  the  cause  of  his 
despair;  he  was  greatly  astonished;  he  knew  nothing;  he 
heard,  with  well-acted  surprise,  of  Flore's  departure,  and  cross- 
questioned  Kouski  to  throw  some  light  on  the  purpose  of  this 
unaccountable  journey. 

"Madame  just  said  this,''  said  Kouski ;  "I  was  to  tell  mon- 
sieur that  she  had  taken  the  twenty  thousand  francs  in  gold 
that  were  in  his  desk,  thinking  that  Monsieur  would  not 
grudge  it  her  as  wages  for  these  two-and-twenty  years." 

"As  wages     said  Eouget. 

"Yes,"  said  Kouski.  "*0h,  I  shall  never  come  back!' 
She  went  away  saying  so  to  Vedie— for  poor  Vedie,  who  is 
greatly  attached  to  monsieur,  was  putting  it  to  madame.  ^No, 
no,'  says  she,  ^he  has  not  the  least  aif ection  for  me ;  he  let  his 
nephew  treat  me  like  the  scum  of  the  earth !'  and  she  was  cry  - 
ing too — ever  so !" 

"What  do  I  care  for  Philippe !"  cried  the  old  man,  whom 
Max  was  watching.  "Where  is  Flore  ?  How  can  we  find  out 
where  she  is  ?" 

"Philippe,  whose  advice  you  are  so  ready  to  take,  will  help 
you,"  said  Maxence  coldly. 

"Philippe?"  said  the  old  man;  "what  can  he  do  with  the 
poor  child?  There  is  no  one  but  you,  my  good  Max,  who 
can  find  Flore;  she  will  come  with  you;  you  will  bring  her 
back  to  me." 

"I  do  not  wish  to  find  myself  in  antagonism  with  Monsieur 
Bridau,"  said  Max. 

"By  Heaven !"  cried  Eouget,  "if  that  is  all — he  has  promised 
me  that  he  will  kill  you." 

"Ah,  ha  !"  laughed  Gilet,  "we  will  see  " 

"My  dear  fellow,"  said  the  old  man,  "find  Flore;  tell  her 
I  will  do  whatever  she  wishes  " 

"She  must  have  been  seen  passing  by  somewhere  in  the 
town,"  said  Maxence  to  Kouski.  "Serve  dinner,  put  everything 
on  the  table,  and  then  go  from  place  to  place,  making  inquiries, 
and  tell  us  at  dessert  what  road  Mademoiselle  Brazier  has 
taken.'' 


246 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


This  order  soothed  the  poor  man  for  a  minute ;  for  he  was 
whimpering  like  a  cliild  that  has  lost  its  nurse.  At  this  mo- 
ment Max,  whom  Rouget  hated  as  the  cause  of  all  his  mis- 
fortunes, appeared  to  him  as  an  angel.  A  passion  like 
Rouget^s  for  Flore  is  strangely  like  a  child's.  At  six  o'clock 
the  Pole,  who  had  simply  taken  a  walk,  came  in  and  announced 
that  Flore  had  set  out  for  Vatan. 

I  "Madame  is  gone  back  to  her  native  place,  that  is  clear,^' 
said  Kouski. 

"Will  you  come  to  Vatan  this  evening  asked  Max  of  the 
old  man.  "The  road  is  bad,  but  Kouski  drives  well,  and  you 
will  make  up  your  quarrel  better  at  eight  o'clock  this  evening 
than  to-morrow  morning." 

"Let  us  be  off,^'  cried  Rouget. 

"Put  the  horse  in  very  quietly,  and  try  to  prevent  the  town 
hearing  all  about  this  foolish  business,  for  Monsieur  Rouget's 
dignity,"  said  Max.  "Saddle  my  horse,  and  I  will  ride 
■■  ihead,"  he  added  in  Kouski's  ear. 

Monsieur  Hochon  had  already  sent  news  of  Mademoiselle 
Brazier's  departure  to  Philippe  Bridau,  who  rose  from  table 
at  Monsieur  Mignonnet's  to  hurry  back  to  the  Place  Saint- 
Jean,  for  he  guessed  at  once  the  purpose  of  this  skilful 
strategy.  When  Philippe  went  to  his  uncle's  door  Kouski 
called  to  him  out  of  a  first-floor  window  that  Monsieur  Rouget 
could  receive  no  one. 

"Fario,"  said  he  to  the  Spaniard,  who  was  walking  in  the 
Grande  Narette,  "go  and  tell  Benjamin  to  set  out  on  horse- 
back ;  I  must  positively  know  where  my  uncle  and  Maxence  are 
going." 

"They  are  putting  the  horse  to  the  barouche,"  said  Fario. 
who  had  been  watching  Rouget's  house. 

"If  they  start  for  Vatan,"  replied  Philippe,  "find  a  second 
horse  for  me,  and  return  with  Benjamin  to  Monsieur  Mignon- 
net's house." 

"What  do  you  purpose  doing?"  asked  Monsieur  Hochon, 
who  came  out  of  his  house  on  seeing  Philippe  and  Fario  on 
the  Place. 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


247 


general's  skill,  my  dear  Monsieur  Ilochon,  consists  not 
merely  in  keeping  a  sharp  lookout  on  the  enemy's  move- 
ments, but  also  in  guessing  his  intentions  from  his  move- 
ments, and  constantly  modifying  his  own  plan  as  fast  as  the 
foe  upsets  it  by  some  unexpected  tactics.  Look  here;  if  my 
uncle  and  Maxence  go  out  together  in  the  chaise,  they  are 
going  to  Vatan;  Maxence  will  have  promised  to  reconcile 
him  to  Flore,  who  fugit  ad  salices — for  this  manoeuvre  is 
General  Virgil's.  If  this  is  their  game,  I  don't  know  what  I 
shall  do.  But  I  have  the  night  before  me,  for  my  uncle  can- 
not sign  a  power  of  attorney  at  ten  o'clock  at  night;  notaries 
are  in  bed. 

"If,  as  the  pawing  of  a  second  horse  suggests  to  me.  Max  is 
going  ahead  to  give  Flore  her  instructions  before  she  sees 
my  uncle — as  seems  necessary  and  probable — the  rascal  is 
done  for !  You  will  see  how  we  play  a  return  match  in  the 
game  of  inheritance,  we  soldiers.  And  since,  for  this  last 
hand  in  the  game,  I  need  an  assistant,  I  am  going  back  to 
Mignonnet's  to  make  arrangements  with  my  friend  Carpen- 
tier." 

After  shaking  hands  with  Monsieur  Hochon,  Philippe  went 
down  the  Petite  Narette  to  see  Major  Mignonnet.  Ten  min- 
utes later.  Monsieur  Hochon  saw  Maxence  set  out  at  a  hard 
gallop ;  and  being  curious,  as  old  men  are,  he  was  so  much 
interested  that  he  remained  standing  at  the  window  waiting 
to  hear  the  rattle  of  the  demi-fortune,  which  was  soon  audible. 
Eouget's  impatience  brought  him  out  twenty  minutes  after 
Max.  Kouski,  in  obedience  to  his  real  master,  was  driving 
slowly — at  any  rate,  in  the  town. 

"If  they  get  off  to  Paris,  all  is  lost !"  said  Monsieur  Hochon 
to  himself. 

At  this  moment  a  little  boy  from  the  Eoman  suburb  came  to 
Monsieur  Hochon's  door;  he  had  a  letter  for  Baruch.  The 
old  man's  two  grandsons,  very  humble  since  the  morning,  had 
of  their  own  accord  stayed  at  home.  Eeflecting  on  the  future, 
they  well  understood  how  wise  they  would  be  to  humor  their 
grandparents.    Baruch  could  not  but  know  how  great  his 


248 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


grandfather  Hochon's  influence  would  be  over  his  grandfather 
and  grandmother  Borniche;  Monsieur  Hochon  would  not 
fail  to  secure  the  lion's  share  of  all  their  money  to  Adolphine 
if  his  conduct  should  justify  them  in  founding  their  hopes  on 
such  a  grand  marriage  as  they  had  threatened  him  with  that 
morning.  Baruch,  being  much  richer  than  Francois,  had 
much  to  lose;  so  he  was  in  favor  of  complete  submission, 
making  no  conditions  but  that  his  debt  to  Max  should  be  paid. 

Frangois'  prospects  were  entirely  in  his  grandfather's 
hands;  he  had  no  fortune  to  look  for  but  from  him,  sinoe, 
from  the  account  of  his  guardianship,  the  youth  was  his 
debtor.  So  the  two  young  men  made  solemn  promises,  their 
repentance  being  stimulated  by  their  damaged  prospects,  and 
Madame  Hochon  had  reassured  them  as  to  the  money  they 
owed  to  Maxence. 

"You  have  played  the  fool  V  said  she.  "Repair  the  mis- 
chief by  good  conduct,  and  Monsieur  Hochon  will  be  molli- 
fied.^' 

Thus,  when  Frangois  had  read  the  letter  over  Baruch's 
shoulder,  he  said  in  his  ear : 

"Ask  grandpapa  what  he  thinks  of  it.'' 

"Here,"  said  Baruch,  handing  the  letter  to  the  old  man. 

"Eead  it  to  me ;  I  have  not  got  my  spectacles." 

"My  dear  Friend, — 

"I  hope  you  will  not  hesitate,  in  the  serious  position  in 
which'  I  am  placed,  to  do  me  a  service  by  accepting  the  office 
of  Monsieur  Eouget's  attorney.  Pray  be  at  Vatan  by  nine 
o'clock  to-morrow.  I  shall  no  doubt  send  you  to  Paris;  but 
be  quite  easy,  I  will  give  you  money  for  the  journey,  and  join 
you  ere  long,  for  I  am  almost  certain  to  be  obliged  to  leave 
Issoudun  on  the  3rd  of  December.  Adieu;  I  rely  on  your 
friendship,  and  you  may  rely  on  mine. 

"Maxence." 

^'God  be  praised !"  said  Monsieur  Hochon,  "that  idiot's  for- 
tune is  safe  from  the  clutches  of  those  devils !" 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


249 


''It  must  be  so,  since  you  say  it,"  observed  Madame  Hochon, 
"and  I  thank  God  for  it;  He  no  doubt  has  heard  my  prayers. 
The  triumph  of  the  wicked  is  always  brief." 

"Go  to  Vatan,  and  accept  the  office  of  attorney  to  Monsieur 
Rouget/'  said  the  old  man  to  Baruch.  "You  will  be  desired 
to  transfer  stock  bearing  fifty  thousand  francs  interest  to  the 
name  of  Mademoiselle  Brazier.  Set  out  for  Paris,  but  stop 
at  Orleans,  and  wait  till  you  hear  from  me.  Tell  no  one 
whatever  where  you  put  up,  and  go  to  the  last  inn  you  see  in 
the  Faubourg  Bannier,  even  if  it  is  but  a  carrier^s  house  of 
call." 

"Hey  day !"  cried  Frangois,  who  had  rushed  to  the  window 
at  the  sound  of  carriage- wheels  in  the  Grande  Narette ;  "here 
is  something  new!  Pere  Rouget  and  Monsieur  Philippe 
have  come  home  together  in  the  carriage,  Benjamin  and  Mon- 
sieur Carpentier  following  them  on  horseback  " 

"I  will  go  across,"  cried  Monsieur  Hochon,  his  curiosity 
getting  the  upper  hand  of  every  other  feeling. 

Monsieur  Hochon  found  old  Rouget  in  his  room,  writing  the 
following  letter  from  his  nephew^s  dictation : — 

"Mademoiselle, — 

"If  you  do  not  set  out  the  instant  you  receive  this  letter 
to  return  to  me,  your  conduct  will  show  so  much  ingratitude 
for  all  my  kindness,  that  I  shall  revoke  my  will  in  your  favor, 
and  leave  my  whole  fortune  to  my  nephew  Philippe.  You 
must  also  understand  that  if  Monsieur  Gilet  is  with  you  at 
Vatan,  he  can  never  again  live  under  my  roof.  I  intrust  this 
letter  to  Monsieur  Carpentier  to  be  delivered  to  you,  and  1 
hope  you  will  listen  to  his  advice,  for  he  will  speak  to  you  as 
I  should  myself. 

"Yours  affectionately, 

"J.-J.  Rouget.'' 

"Captain  Carpentier  and  I  happened  to  meet  my  uncle," 
said  Philippe  to  Monsieur  Hochon  with  bitter  irony.  "He 
was  so  foolish  as  to  intend  going  to  Vatan  to  seek  Made- 


HBO  A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


moiselle  Brazier  and  Major  Gilet.  I  explained  to  my  uncle 
that  he  was  running  head  foremost  into  a  trap.  Will  not  that 
woman  throw  him  over  as  soon  as  he  shall  have  signed  the 
power  of  attorney  she  insists  on  to  enable  her  to  transfer  to 
herself  the  stock  for  fifty  thousand  francs  a  year?  By  writing 
this  letter,  will  he  not  see  her  back  here  to-night,  under  his 
roof— -the  fair  deserter !  I  promise  I  will  make  mademoiselle 
as  pliant  as  a  reed  for  the  rest  of  her  life,  if  only  my  uncle 
will  allow  me  to  take  the  place  of  Monsieur  Gilet,  who,  in  my 
opinion,  is  certainly  not  in  the  right  place  here.  Am  I  not 
right  ? — And  my  uncle  wrings  his  hands 

^^My  good  neighbor,"  said  Monsieur  Hochon,  ''you  have 
taken  the  best  means  for  securing  peace  in  your  house.  If 
you  will  listen  to  me,  you  will  destroy  your  will,  and  then 
you  will  see  Flore  once  more  all  that  she  was  in  former 
days." 

"No ;  she  will  never  forgive  me  for  making  her  so  unliappy," 
said  the  old  man,  weeping ;  "she  will  never  love  me  again." 

"Yes,  she  will  love  3^ou,  and  heartily  too,"  said  Philippe. 
"I  will  see  to  that." 

"But  open  your  eyes,  man!"  said  Monsieur  Hochon  to 
Kouget.    "They  only  want  to  rob  you  and  desert  you !" 

"Oh,  if  I  were  only  sure  of  that !"  said  the  poor  creature. 

"Look  here.  This  is  a  letter  written  by  Maxence  to  my 
grandson  Borniche,"  said  old  Hochon.    "Read  it." 

"The  wretch !"  exclaimed  Carpentier,  as  he  heard  the  letter 
which  Eouget  read  through  his  tears. 

"Is  that  clear  enough,  uncle?"  asked  Philippe.  "I  tell 
you,  bind  the  minx  to  you  by  interest  and  you  will  be  adored— 
as  you  can  be— half  thread  and  half  cotton !" 

"She  is  too  fond  of  Maxence;  she  will  throw  me  over!" 
said  the  old  man  piteously. 

"I  tell  you,  uncle,  by  the  day  after  to-morrow  either  I  or 
Maxence  v/ill  have  ceased  to  leave  our  tracks  on  the  streets 
of  Issoudun  " 

"Well,"  said  the  poor  fellow,  "go.  Monsieur  Carpentier; 
if  you  promise  me  that  she  will  come  back,  go.    You  are  a 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


251 


man  to  be  depended  on;  say  to  her  all  you  think  fit  in  my 
name." 

•''Captain  Carpentier  will  whisper  in  her  ear  that  I  am 
having  a  lady  here  from  Paris  who  is  a  little  gem  of  youth 
and  beauty,"  said  Philippe,  "and  the  minx  will  come  back 
as  fast  as  she  can  drive." 

The  Captain  set  out,  driving  himself  in  the  old  chaise; 
Benjamin  accompanied  him  on  horseback,  for  Kouski  was  not 
to  be  found.  Though  the  two  officers  had  threatened  him  with 
an  action  and  the  loss  of  his  place,  the  Pole  had  fled  to  Vatan 
on  a  hired  horse,  to  warn  Maxence  and  Flore  of  their  ad- 
versary's bold  game. 

Carpentier,  who  did  not  choose  to  return  with  la  Eabouil- 
leuse,  was  to  ride  back  on  Benjamin's  horse  when  he  had 
carried  out  his  mission- 
On  hearing  of  Kouski's  desertion,  Philippe  said  to  Ben- 
jamin : 

"You  can  take  his  place  here  this  evening.  Try  to  climb 
up  at  the  back  of  the  chaise  without  being  seen  by  Flore,  no 
as  to  be  here  by  the  time  she  is." 

"Things  are  shaping !  Daddy  Hochon !"  said  the  Colonel. 
"There  will  be  fun  at  the  banquet  the  day  after  to-morrow." 

"And  you  will  settle  yourself  here,"  said  the  old  miser. 

"I  have  told  Fario  to  send  in  all  my  things.  I  shall  sleep 
in  the  room  that  opens  on  to  the  same  landing  as  Gilet's ;  my 
uncle  agrees." 

"Oh!  what  will  come  of  all  this?"  cried  the  old  man  in 
dismay. 

"Mademoiselle  Flore  Brazier  will  come  of  it,  within  a  few 
hours,  as  mild  as  a  Paschal  lamb,"  replied  Monsieur  Hochon. 

"God  grant  it !"  said  Jean-Jacques,  drying  away  his  tears. 

"'It  is  now  seven  o'clock,"  said  Philippe.  "The  queen  of 
your  heart  will  be  here  by  about  half-past  eleven.  You  will 
see  no  more  of  Gilet ;  will  you  not  be  as  happy  as  a  Pope  ? — 
Tf  you  want  me  to  succeed,"  Philippe  added  in  Monsieur 
Hochon's  ear,  "remain  with  us  till  that  she-ape  comes;  you 
will  help  me  to  keep  the  old  fellow  at  the  sticking-point ;  and 
VOL.  4-43 


252 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


then,  between  us,  we  can  make  Mademoiselle  la  Rabouilleuse 
understand  where  her  true  interests  lie." 

Monsieur  Hochon  kept  Philippe  company,  seeing  that  there 
was  sense  in  his  request ;  but  they  both  had  their  hands  full, 
for  Pere  Rouget  gave  himself  up  to  childish  lamentations, 
which  were  not  checked  by  the  arguments  Philippe  repeated 
ten  times  over: 

"Well,  uncle,  if  Plore  comes  back  and  is  affectionate  to  you, 
you  will  admit  that  I  am  right.  You  will  be  made  much  of ; 
you  will  keep  your  income ;  3^ou  will  be  guided  for  the  future 
by  my  advice,  and  all  will  go  on  like  Paradise." 

When  at  half-past  eleven  the  sound  of  wheels  was  heard 
in  the  Grande  Narette,  the  question  was  whether  the  carriage 
had  returned  empty  or  full.  Rouget's  face  wore  an  expres- 
sion of  indescribable  anguish,  which  gave  way  to  the  reaction 
of  excessive  joy  when,  as  the  chaise  turned  to  come  in,  he  saw 
in  it  the  two  women. 

^'Kouski,"  said  Philippe,  giving  his  hand  to  Flore  to  get 
out,  "you  are  dismissed  from  Monsieur  Rouget's  service.  You 
are  not  to  sleep  here  to-night,  so  pack  your  things;  Benjamin 
here  will  fill  your  place." 

"So  you  are  master?"  said  Flore,  with  a  sneer. 

"By  your  leave !"  retorted  Philippe,  holding  Flore's  huDd  ar^ 
in  a  vise.  "Come  with  me;  we  have  to  rabouiller  our  hearts, 
you  and  I." 

Philippe  led  the  woman,  dumfounded,  out  a  few  yards  on 
to  the  Place  Saint-Jean. 

"Now,  my  beauty;  the  day  after  to-morrow  Gilet  will  be 
sent  to  the  shades  below  by  this  right  arm,"  said  the  officer, 
holding  it  out,  "or  he  will  have  caught  me  off  my  guard.  If  I 
fall,  you  will  be  the  mistress  in  my  uncle's  house — lene  sit! 
If  I  am  left  standing  on  my  pegs,  you  have  got  to  keep  him  in 
happiness  of  the  very  first  quality.  Otherwise,  I  know  plenty 
of  Rahouilleuses  in  Paris,  prettier  than  you,  without  any  in- 
justice to  you,  for  they  are  but  seventeen ;  they  would  make  my 
uncle  very  happy,  and  not  fail  to  take  my  part.  Begin  your 
task  this  very  evening,  for  if  the  old  man  is  not  as  lively  as 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


253 


a  chaffinch  to-morrow,  I  have  only  one  thing  to  say  to  you — 
and  mark  my  words — There  is  only  one  way  of  killing  a  man 
without  the  law  having  a  word  to  say  to  it,  and  that  is  by 
fighting  a  duel ;  but  when  it  comes  to  a  woman — I  know  three 
ways  of  getting  rid  of  her.    There,  my  pigeon  \" 

All  through  this  address  Flore  had  been  shaking  like  an 
ague-patient. 

"Kill  Max  she  said,  looking  at  Philippe  in  the  moon- 

i  light. 

"Now,  go.    See,  here  is  my  uncle    .  . 

In  fact,  old  Eouget,  in  spite  of  all  that  Monsieur  Hochon 
could  say,  had  come  out  into  the  street  to  take  Flore  by  the 
hand,  as  a  miser  might  have  sought  his  treasure.  He  led 
her  into  the  house  and  into  his  room,  and  locked  the  door. 

"This  is  good  Saint-Lambert's  Day,  those  who  leave  must 
stay  away,'^  said  Benjamin  to  the  Pole. 

"Oh,  my  master  will  shut  all  your  mouths,^'  retorted  Kouski, 
going  off  to  join  Max,  who  put  up  at  the  Hotel  de  la  Poste. 

Next  day,  from  nine  till  eleven,  all  the  women  were  gos- 
siping at  the  house-doors.  All  through  the  town  nothing  was 
talked  of  but  the  wonderful  rcA^olution  carried  out  the  day  be- 
fore in  Pere  Rouget's  household.  The  upshot  of  these  dis- 
cussions was  everywhere  the  same. 

"What  will  happen  between  Max  and  Colonel  Bridau  at  the 
Anniversary  banquet  to-morrow 

To  Vedie,  Philippe  spoke  a  few  words — "An  annuity  of  six 
hundred  francs — or  dismissal  ?'  which  reduced  her  to  neutral- 
ity for  the  time  between  two  such  formidable  powers  as 
Philippe  and  Flore. 

Knowing  Max's  life  to  be  imperiled,  Flore  was  sweeter  to 
old  Rouget  than  even  in  the  early  days  of  their  housekeeping. 
Alas !  in  love  affairs,  interested  fraud  overrides  sincerity,  and 
(hat  is  why  so  many  men  pay  clever  beguilers  so  dear.  La 
Rabouilleuse  remained  invisible  next  morning  till  breakfast 
time,  when  she  came  down,  giving  her  arm  to  Pere  Rouget. 
The  tears  rose  to  her  eyes  as  she  saw  in  Max's  seat  the  terrible 
veteran  with  his  gloomy  blue  eye  and  ominously  calm  face. 


254 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


"What  ails  you,  mademoiselle?"  said  he,  after  wishing  his 
uncle  good-morning. 

'^hat  ails  her,  nephew,  is  that  she  cannot  bear  the  idea  of 
yonr  fighting  Major  Gilet  " 

"I  have  not  the  slightest  wish  to  kill  your  Gilet/'  replied 
Philippe.  "He  has  only  to  clear  out  of  Issoudun  and  ship 
himself  to  America  with  a  parcel  of  merchandise ;  I  should  be 
the  first  to  advise  you  to  give  him  some  money  to  invest  in  the 
best  class  of  goods,  and  to  wish  him  good  luck !  He  will  make 
a  fortune,  and  it  would  be  more  creditable  than  running  riot 
through  the  town  o'  nights — not  to  mention  playing  the  devil 
in  your  house." 

"Well,  that  is  very  handsome,  eh!"  said  Eouget,  turning 
to  Flore. 

"To  A-me-ri-ca  !"  said  she,  sobbing. 

"He  would  be  better  off  kicking  his  heels  in  New  York  than 
tucked  up  in  a  deal  box  in  France.  But,  of  course,  you  may 
say  he  is  a  crack  hand ;  he  may  kill  me !"  remarked  the 
Colonel. 

'^ill  you  allow  me  to  speak  to  him?"  said  Flore,  in  a 
quite  humble  and  submissive  tone,  to  Philippe. 

"Certainly,  and  he  may  come  and  take  away  all  his  things. 
But  I  shall  stay  with  my  uncle  meanwhile;  for  I  do  not 
intend  to  leave  the  old  man  any  more,"  replied  Philippe. 

"Vedie,"  called  Flore,  "run  to  the  Poste,  woman,  and  tell 
the  Major  that  I  beg  him  to  " 

"To  come  and  fetch  away  his  things,"  said  Philippe,  in- 
terrupting Flore. 

"Yes,  yes,  Vedie.  That  will  be  the  best  excuse  for  asking 
him  to  come ;  I  want  to  speak  to  him." 

Fear  so  completely  overpowered  hatred  in  this  woman,  and 
her  dismay  at  meeting  a  strong  and  ruthless  will,  when  hither- 
to she  had  always  met  with  adulation,  was  so  great  that 
she  was  beginning  to  give  way  before  Philippe,  as  poor  old 
Eouget  had  given  way  before  her.  She  awaited  with  anxiety 
Vedie's  return;  but  Vedie  came  back  with  a  positive  refusal 
from  Max,  who  begged  Mademoiselle  Brazier  to  send  all  his 
possessions  to  the  Hotel  de  la  Poste. 


A  BACHELOR'S  KSTAIiLKSHMENT 


255 


"Will  you  let  me  take  them  to  him?"  she  asked  old 
Eouget. 

"Yes — but  you  promise  to  come  back  V  said  the  old  man. 

"If  mademoiselle  is  not  here  by  mid-day,  at  one  o'clock 
you  will  give  me  a  power  of  attorney  to  transfer  your  securi- 
ties/' said  Philippe,  looking  at  Flore.  "Take  Vedie  for  the 
sake  of  appearances,  mademoiselle.  Henceforth  we  must 
guard  my  uncle's  honor." 

Flore  could  get  nothing  out  of  Maxence.  The  Major,  in 
his  disgust  at  having  allowed  himself  to  be  ousted  from  his 
disgraceful  position  before  the  eyes  of  the  whole  town,  was  too 
proud  to  retreat  before  Philippe.  La  Kabouilleuse  combated 
his  arguments  by  proposing  to  her  lover  that  they  should  fly 
together  to  America ;  but  Gilet,  who  did  not  want  Flore  witli- 
out  Pere  Rouget's  fortune,  while  he  would  not  let  the  womaji 
see  to  the  bottom  of  his  heart,  persisted  in  saying  that  he 
meant  to  kill  Philippe. 

'•'^e  have  committed  a  stupid  blunder,'^  said  he.  "We  ought 
to  have  gone,  all  three  of  us,  to  spend  the  winter  in  Paris. 
But  how  could  we  imagine  from  looking  at  that  gaunt  carcasH 
that  things  would  turn  out  as  they  have  done?  Events  have 
come  with  such  a  rush,  that  it  has  turned  my  brain.  I  took 
the  Colonel  for  a  swashbuckler  without  two  ideas;  that  was. 
my  mistake.  Since  I  was  not  sharp  enough  in  the  first  in- 
stance to  double  like  a  hare,  I  should  be  a  coward  now  if 
I  yielded  an  inch  to  the  Colonel;  he  has  ruined  me  in  the 
opinion  of  the  town ;  only  his  death  can  rehabilitate  me." 

"Go  to  America  v/ith  forty  thousand  francs.  I  will  find 
some  way  of  getting  rid  of  that  savage;  I  will  join  you  there; 
it  will  be  much  wiser    .    .  ." 

"What  would  people  think  of  me?"  he  exclaimed,  stung 
by  the  thought  of  the  "jaw."  "No.  Besides,  I  have  already 
settled  nine.  That  fellow  can  be  no  great  duelist,  it  seems  to 
me.  He  left  school  to  go  into  the  army;  he  was  always  in 
the  wars  till  1815,  since  that  he  has  been  traveling  in  America; 
so  my  bull-dog  can  never  have  set  foot  in  a  fencing  school, 
while  I  have  no  match  at  sword-play.    The  cavalry  sword 


256 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


is  his  arm ;  I  shall  seem  magnanimous  by  proposing  it — for  I 
shall  try  to  make  him  insult  me,  and  I  will  make  short  work 
of  him.  Decidedly  that  is  the  best  thing  to  do.  Be  easy ;  we 
shall  be  masters  again  the  day  after  to-morrow." 

Thus  with  Max  a  foolish  point  of  honor  outweighed  rational 
policy.  Flore  was  at  hom^e  by  one  o'clock,  and  shut  herself 
into  her  room  to  cry  at  her  ease.  All  that  day  gossip  wagged 
its  tongue  freely  in  Issoudun,  for  a  duel  between  Maxence 
and  Philippe  was  considered  inevitable. 

"Ah!  Monsieur  Hochon,"  said  Mignonnet,  who  met  the 
old  man  on  the  Boulevard  Baron,  where  the  Captain  was  walk- 
ing with  Carpentier,  "we  are  very  anxious,  for  Gilet  is  equally 
strong  with  all  weapons." 

"Never  mind,"  said  the  old  provincial  diplomate,  "Philippe 
has  managed  the  whole  business  very  well — and  I  never  should 
have  believed  that  that  long,  free-and-easy  rascal  would  have 
succeeded  so  quickly.  Those  two  fellowa  rolled  up  to  meet 
each  other  like  two  storm-clouds  " 

"Oh,"  said  Carpentier,  "Philippe  is  a  very  deep  customer. 
His  conduct  before  the  Supreme  Court  was  a  masterpiece  of 
skill." 

"Hallo !  Captain  Eenard,"  said  a  tov/nsman,  "they  say  that 
wolves  do  not  eat  each  other,  but  it  seems  that  Max  is  going 
to  try  a  ripping  match  with  Colonel  Bridau.  It  will  be  no 
child's  play  between  men  of  the  old  Guard !" 

"And  you  can  laugh  at  it,  you  townsmen.  Because  the  poor 
fellow  liked  a  lark  at  night,  you  owe  him  a  grudge,"  said 
Major  Potel.  "But  Gilet  is  a  man  who  could  never  stay  in 
such  a  hole  as  Issoudun  without  finding  something  to  do." 

"Well,  well,  gentlemen,"  said  another,  "Max  and  the  Colonel 
have  played  the  game  out.  Was  not  the  Colonel  bound  to 
avenge  his  brother  Joseph  ?  Do  you  remember  Max's  treach- 
ery towards  that  poor  fellow?" 

"Bah!  an  artist!"  said  Renard. 

"But  Pere  Rouget's  leavings  are  in  the  balance.  They  sa} 
that  Monsieur  Gilet  was  about  to  pounce  on  fifty  thousand 
francs  a  year  when  the  Colonel  went  to  live  under  his  uncle's 
roof/' 


I 

A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT  257 

"Gilet — steal  anybody's  money? — Look  here,  Monsieur 
Canivet,  do  not  say  that  anywhere  but  here,  or  we  will  make 
you  eat  your  words  without  any  sauce  to  them." 

But  worthy  Colonel  Bridau  had  the  good  wishes  of  all  the 
townspeople. 

On  the  morrow,  at  about  four  o'clock,  the  officers  of  the 
Imperial  army  who  resided  at  Issoudun,  or  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, were  walking  to  and  fro  on  the  market-place,  in  front 
of  an  eating-house  kept  by  one  Lacroix,  waiting  for  Philippe 
Bridau.  The  banquet  in  honor  of  the  anniversary  of  the 
Coronation  was  fixed  for  five  o'clock,  military  time.  Several 
gvoups  were  discussing  Maxence's  affairs  and  his  eviction 
from  Eouget's  house,  for  the  private  soldiers  had  also  agreed 
to  hold  a  meeting  at  a  tavern  on  the  Place.  Of  all  the  officers, 
Potel  and  Eenard  alone  attempted  to  defend  their  friend. 

"Is  it  our  part  to  interfere  in  what  goes  on  between  two 
heirs  ?"  said  Renard. 

"Max  is  soft  to  women,"  remarked  Potel  the  cynic. 

"Swords  will  be  draw^n  before  long,"  said  a  retired  sub- 
lieutenant, wtto  now  cultivated  a  market-garden  in  the  upper 
Baltan.  "Though  Monsieur  Maxence  was  a  fool  to  go  to  live 
with  Pere  Rouget,  he  would  be  a  coward  to  take  his  dismissal 
like  a  servant  without  asking  the  reason." 

"Certainly,"  replied  Mignonnet  drily.  "When  an  act  of 
folly  fails,  it  becomes  a  crime." 

Max,  who  presently  joined  the  old  Bonapartist  soldiers,  was 
received  with  very  significant  silence.  Potel  and  Renard 
each  took  an  arm,  and  led  Max  a  little  way  off  to  talk  to  him, 
At  this  moment  Philippe  appeared  in  the  distance  in  full 
dress;  he  dragged  his  cane  with  an  imperturbable  air  that 
contrasted  with  the  deep  attention  Max  was  obliged  to  give  to 
what  his  two  last  friends  were  saying.  Philippe  shook  hands 
with  Mignonnet,  Carpentier,  and  a  few  others.  This  re- 
ception, so  unlike  that  which  Max  had  just  met  with,  finally 
dispelled  from  the  mind  of  the  latter  certain  dawnings  of 
cowardice — or  of  prudence,  if  you  please — to  which  Flore's  en- 


258 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


treaties,  and,  above  all,  her  affection,  had  given  rise  when 
at  last  he  had  been  left  face  to  face  with  himself. 

"We  will  fight,"  said  he  to  Captain  Eenard,  "and  to  the 
death!  So  talk  to  me  no  more;  leave  me  to  play  my  part 
out." 

After  these  words,  spoien  in  a  fever  of  excitement,  the 
three  men  rejoined  the  other  groups  of  officers.  Max  bowed 
first  to  Bridau,  who  returned  the  compliment  with  a  very  cold 
stare. 

"Come,  gentlemen;  to  dinner,"  said  Major  Potel. 

"And  to  drink  to  the  imperishable  glory  of  the  little  Crop- 
head,  who  is  now  in  the  paradise  of  the  brave,"  cried  Eenard. 

All  the  party,  feeling  that  the  business  of  dinner  would  put 
them  in  better  countenance,  understood  the  little  Light-horse 
Captain's  intentions.  They  hurried  into  the  long,  low  dining- 
room  of  the  Kestaurant  Lacroix,  of  which  the  windows  looked 
out  on  the  market-place.  Each  guest  at  once  took  his  seat  at 
table,  and  the  adversaries  found  themselves  face  to  face,  as 
Philippe  had  requested.  Several  of  the  youth  of  the  town, 
especially  the  ex-Knights  of  Idlesse,  somewhat  uneasy  as  to 
what  might  take  place  at  this  dinner,  walked  about  outside, 
discussing  the  critical  position  in  which  Philippe  had  con- 
trived to  place  Maxence  Gilet.  They  deplored  the  collision, 
\»(hile  admitting  that  a  duel  was  necessary. 

All  went  well  till  dessert,  though  the  two  fighting  men  kept 
a  sort  of  watch  on  each  other,  not  far  removed  from  uneasi- 
ness, in  spite  of  the  apparent  cheerfulness  of  the  meal.  Pend- 
ing the  quarrel,  which  both,  no  doubt,  were  meditating, 
Philippe  was  admirably  cool,  and  Max  boisterously  gay;  but, 
to  the  connoisseur,  each  was  playing  a  part. 

When  dessert  was  on  the  table,  Philippe  said : 

"Fill  your  glasses,  my  friends;  I  claim  permission  to  pro- 
pose our  first  toast." 

"He  said  'My  friends' ;  do  not  fill  your  glass,"  said  Renard 
in  Max's  ear. 

But  Max  poured  out  some  wine. 

"The  Grand  Army!"  cried  Philippe  with  genuine  en* 
thusiasm. 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


259 


"The  Grand  Army !"  was  repeated  like  one  word  by  every 
voice. 

At  this  moment  in  the  doorway  there  appeared  eleven 
private  soldiers,  among  them  Benjamin  and  Kouski,  who  all 
repeated,  "The  Grand  Army 

"Come  in,  boys;  we  are  going  to  drink  to  his  health,"  said 
Major  Potel. 

The  old  soldiers  came  in,  and  remained  standing  behind  the 
officers. 

"You  see,  he  is  not  really  dead!''  said  Koiiski  to  an  old 
sergeant,  who  had,  no  doubt,  been  deploring  the  Emperor's 
long  agony,  now  at  last  ended. 

"I  claim  the  second  toast,"  said  Major  Mignonnet. 

A  few  of  the  dessert  dishes  were  disturbed  to  keep  up  ap- 
pearances.   Mignonnet  rose. 

"To  those  who  tried  to  reinstate  his  son  !"  said  he. 

Every  one,  with  the  exception  of  Maxence  Gilet,  lifted  his 
glass  to  Philippe  Bridau. 

"It  is  my  turn,"  said  Max,  rising. 

"Max ! — it  is  Max !"  they  were  saying  outside.  Deep 
silence  reigned  within  and  on  the  market-place,  for  Gilet's 
temper  led  them  to  expect  some  provocation. 

"May  we  all  meet  here  again  this  day  twelvemonth !"  and 
he  bowed  ironically  to  Philippe. 

"He  is  coming  on  !"  said  Kouski  to  his  neighbor. 

"The  Paris  police  did  not  allow  you  to  hold  such  banquets 
as  this,"  said  Major  Potel  to  Philippe. 

"Why  the  devil  need  you  speak  of  the  police  to  Colonel 
Bridau?"  asked  Maxence  Gilet  insolently. 

"Major  Potel  meant  no  harm  on  his  part,"  said  Philippe, 
with  a  bitter  smile.  The  silence  was  so  complete  that  a  fly 
would  have  been  heard  if  there  had  been  any. 

"The  police  is  sufficiently  afraid  of  me,"  said  Philippe,  "to 
have  sent  me  to  Issoudun,  a  place  where  I  have  had  the  good 
luck  to  find  a  few  of  the  right  old  sort.  But  it  must  be  con- 
fessed that  there  is  not  much  amusement  to  be  found  here. 
For  a  man  who  was  not  averse  to  the  ladies  I  have  come  off 


260 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


but  badly.  However,  I  will  save  my  money  for  the  pretty 
dears — for  I  am  not  one  of  the  men  who  find  their  fortune 
in  a  feather-bed,  and  Mariette  of  the  opera-house  cost  me  no 
end  of  money." 

"Is  it  for  my  benefit  that  you  say  that,  my  dear  Colonel 
said  Max,  firing  a  glance  like  an  electric  shock  at  Philippe. 

■'"'If  the  cap  fits,  Major  Gilet." 

"Colonel,  my  two  friends  here,  Eenard  and  Potel,  will  call 
to-morrow  morning  

"On  Mignonnet  and  Carpentier,"  interrupted  Philippe, 
waving  his  hand  to  his  two  neighbors. 

"Now,"  said  Max,  "go  on  with  the  toasts." 

Neither  of  the  antagonists  had  raised  his  voice  above  the 
ordinary  tone  of  conversation;  nothing  was  solemn  but  the 
silence  in  which  they  were  heard. 

"Look  here,  you  fellows,"  said  Philippe,  looking  at  the 
privates,  "remember,  our  affairs  are  nc  concern  of  the  town- 
folks  ! — Not  a  word  of  what  has  just  been  said ;  it  must  re- 
main a  secret  with  the  old  Guard." 

"They  will  obey  orders,  Colonel,"  said  Renard;  "I  will 
answer  for  them." 

"Long  live  the  youngster !  May  he  reign  in  France  /"  cried 
Potel. 

"Death  to  the  Englishman !"  added  Carpentier,  and  this 
toast  was  enthusiastically  drunk. 

"Shame  on  Hudson  Lowe  !"  said  Captain  Renard. 

The  dessert  went  off  very  well,  with  ample  libations.  The 
two  antagonists  regarded  it  as  a  point  of  honor  that  this  duel, 
in  which  an  immense  fortune  was  at  stake,  while  the  combat- 
ants ^YQTQ  both  men  so  noted  for  their  courage,  should  have 
no  feature  in  common  with  a  vulgar  quarrel.  Two  gentle- 
men, in  the  best  sense,  could  not  have  behaved  better  than 
Max  and  Philippe.  The  expectations  of  the  young  men  and 
townspeople  who  had  gathered  on  the  market-place  were  dis- 
appointed. 

All  the  guests,  as  brother-soldiers,  kept  the  secret  of  the 
episode  at  dessert.    At  ten  o'clock  the  two  principals  were  in- 


jeick  it  up!  "  he  said,  pausing  in  the  fight 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


261 


formed  that  the  sword  was  tlie  weapon  decided  on.  The  spot 
selected  for  the  meeting  was  behind  the  apse  of  the  Capuchin 
chapel,  at  eight  next  morning.  Goddet,  who  had  been  present 
at  the  dinner,  having  formerly  served  as  surgeon-major,  had 
been  requested  to  attend.  Whatever  came  of  it,  the  seconds 
agreed  that  the  fighting  was  not  to  last  for  more  than  ten 
minutes.  ^ 

At  eleven  o'clock  that  night,  to  the  ColonePs  great  surprise 
just  as  he  was  going  to  bed.  Monsieur  Hochon  brought  his  wif<? 
over  to  see  him. 

"We  know  what  is  happening,^'  said  the  old  lady,  her  eye? 
full  of  tears,  "and  I  have  come  to  beseech  you  not  to  go  out 
to-morrow  morning  without  saying  your  prayers.  Lift  up 
your  soul  to  God." 

"Yes,  madame,"  said  Philippe,  to  whom  old  Hochon  was 
signaling  from  behind  his  wife. 

"That  is  not  all,"  said  Agathe's  godmother ;  "I  put  myself 
in  your  poor  mother's  place,  and  I  have  deprived  myself  of  my 
most  precious  possession.  Look  here !"  and  she  held  out  to 
Philippe  a  tooth  fastened  to  a  piece  of  black  velvet  em* 
broidered  with  gold,  to  which  two  ends  of  green  ribbon  were 
sewn ;  after  showing  it  to  Philippe,  she  replaced  it  in  a  little 
bag.  "It  is  a  relic  of  Saint  Solange,  the  patron  saint  of  le 
Berry;  I  saved  it  at  the  time  of  the  Revolution;  wear  it  on 
your  breast  to-morrow." 

"Can  it  protect  me  against  a  sword-stroke  ?"  asked  Philippe. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  old  lady. 

"Then  I  can  no  more  wear  that  paraphernalia  that  I  could 
wear  a  breastplate,"  cried  Agathe's  son. 

"What  does  he  mean?"  asked  Madame  Hochon  of  her  hus- 
band. 

"He  says  it  is  not  fair  play,"  replied  old  Hochon. 
"Very  well ;  say  no  more  about  it,"  said  she.    "I  will  pray 
for  you." 

"Well,  madame,  a  mouthful  of  prayers  and  a  straight  thrust 
can  do  no  harm,"  said  the  Colonel,  making  as  though  he  would 
pierce  Monsieur  Hochon  through  the  heart 


?62  A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


The  old  lady  insisted  on  kissing  Philippe  on  the  forehead. 
Then^  as  she  went  out,  she  gave  Benjamin  ten  crowns,  all  the 
money  she  had,  to  induce  him  to  ser/  the  relic  into  his  master's 
trousers-pocket.  Which  Benjamin  did,  not  believing  in  the 
virtue  of  the  bone — for  his  master,  said  he,  had  a  much  larger 
one  to  pick  with  Gilet — but  because  he  v/as  bound  to  fulfil  a 
commission  so  handsomely  paid  for.  Madame  Hochon  went 
home  firmly  trusting  in  Saint  Solange. 

At  eight  next  morning,  in  overcast  weather,  Max,  with  his' 
two  seconds  and  Kouski,  arrived  on  the  little  plot  of  grass 
which  at  that  time  surrounded  the  apse  of  the  old  Capuchin 
church.  There  they  found  Philippe  and  his  party  with  Ben- 
jamin. Potel  and  Mignonnet  measured  twenty-five  paces.  At 
each  end  of  the  line  the  two  men  marked  a  crease  with  a  spade. 
Neither  of  the  combatants  could  retreat  beyond  the  mark 
under  pain  of  cowardice ;  each  man  was  to  stand  on  his  line, 
and  advance  as  far  as  he  pleased,  when  the  seconds  cried 
^'Go !" 

*^'Shall  we  take  our  coats  off  ?"  said  Philippe  coldly  to  Gilet. 
"By  all  means.  Colonel,"  said  Maxence,  with  the  confidence 
f  an  old  hand. 

The  two  men  kept  on  only  their  trousers,  the  flesh  showing 
pink  through  their  cambric  "shirts.  Armed  with  cavalry 
iwords,  carefully  chosen  of  the  same  weight — about  three 
pounds,  and  the  same  length — three  feet,  the  two  men  took 
:heir  stand,  their  swords  pointed  downwards,  awaiting  the 
signal.  Both  were  so  calm,  that  in  spite  of  the  cold  their 
muscles  quivered  no  more  than  if  they  had  been  of  bronze. 
Goddet,  the  four  seconds,  and  the  two  soldiers  felt  an  in- 
voluntary thrill. 

"They  are  a  fine  couple  !" 

The  exclamation  broke  from  Major  Potel. 

At  the  moment  when  the  word  "Go  V'  was  spoken,  Maxence 
caught  sight  of  Fario's  ominous  face ;  he  was  looking  at  them 
from  the  hole  made  by  the  Knights  of  the  Order  to  put  the 
pigeons  through  into  his  store.  Those  eyes,  from  which  hatred 
and  revenge  shot  like  two  showers  of  flame,  dazzled  Max. 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


203 


The  Colonel  made  straight  for  his  antagonist,  putting  him- 
self on  guard  in  such  a  way  as  to  secure  the  advantage. 
Experts  in  the  art  of  killing  know  that  the  more  skilful  of  two 
swordsmen  can  take  the  upper  hand,  to  use  an  expression  that 
suggests  hy  a  figure  of  speech  the  effect  of  the  superior  guard. 
This  attitude,  which  allows  a  man  in  some  degree  to  see  what 
is  coming,  so  effectually  proclaims  a  duelist  of  the  first  class 
that  a  sense  of  his  own  inferiority  sank  deep  into  Max's  soul, 
producing  that  flutter  of  mind  which  is  the  ruin  of  a  gambler 
when,  face  to  face  with  a  master-hand  or  a  man  in  luck,  he  is 
disconcerted,  and  plays  worse  than  usual. 

"Ah,  the  wretch  V  said  Max  to  himself.  "He  is  more  than 
my  match.    I  am  done  for  !" 

Max  tried  a  circular  flourish,  wielding  his  sword  with  the 
skill  of  a  player  at  single  stick ;  he  wanted  to  dazzle  Philippe's 
eye  and  strike  his  weapon,  so  as  to  disarm  him;  but  at  the 
first  touch  he  felt  that  the  Colonel  had  a  wrist  of  iron,  as 
flexible  as  a  steel  spring.  Maxence  had  to  find  some  other 
gtroke;  and  he,  wretched  man,  w^anted  to  think,  while 
Philippe,  whose  eyes  sparkled  more  vividly  than  the  flashing 
steel,  parried  every  attack  as  coolly  as  a  fencing  master  in 
pads  in  a  school  of  arms. 

Between  two  men,  when  both  are  so  skilful  as  these  com- 
batants, the  issue  depends  on  a  circumstance  somewhat  like 
that  which  decides  the  event  of  the  horrible  kicking  matches 
among  the  common  people,  known  as  the  Savate.  The  victory 
depends  on  a  false  move,  on  a  mistake  in  the  distance,  as 
sudden  as  a  lightning  flash,  which  must  be  followed  up  in- 
stantly. For  a  certain  time,  as  short  to  the  spectators  as  it 
seems  long  to  the  adversaries,  the  fight  consists  in  watchful- 
ness- absorbing  every  power  of  mind  and  body,  but  hidden 
under  feints  apparently  so  slow  and  so  cautious  that  it  might 
be  supposed  that  neither  of  the  men  meant  business.  This 
instant,  followed  by  a  swift  and  decisive  struggle,  is  agonizing 
to  the  skilled  beholder.  Max  presently  parried  badly,  and  the 
Colonel  struck  the  sword  out  of  his  hand. 

"Pick  it  up !"  he  said,  pausing  in  the  fight.  "I  am  not  the 
man  to  kill  a  disarmed  foe." 


264 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


It  was  the  sublime  of  ruthlessness.  This  generosity  showed 
such  certain  superiority  that  it  was  regarded  as  the  cleverest 
design  by  the  lookers-on.  In  fact,  when  Max  took  up  his 
guard  again  he  had  lost  his  presence  of  mind,  and  again,  of 
course,  found  himself  below  the  high  guard  which  threatened 
him  while  covering  his  adversary.  Then  he  hoped  to  retrieve 
his  shameful  defeat  by  a  daring  blow;  he  no  longer  tried  to 
guard  himself;  he  took  his  sword  in  both  hands  and  rushed 
furiously  on  the  Colonel,  to  wound  him  mortally,  while  allow- 
ing himself  to  be  killed.  Though  Philippe  received  a  sword- 
stroke  which  cut  his  forehead  and  part  of  his  face,  he  split 
Max^s  skull  obliquely  by  a  terrible  swashing  cut,  intended  to 
break  the  murderous  blow  Max  meant  to  deal  him.  These  two 
frantic  cuts  ended  the  fight  in  nine  minutes.  Fario  came 
down  to  feast  his  eyes  on  the  sight  of  his  enemy's  death- 
struggle,  for  in  a  man  so  powerful  as  Max  the  muscles  twitch 
frightfully.    Philippe  was  carried  to  his  uncle's  house. 

Thus  died  one  of  those  men  destined  to  achieve  great  things 
if  he  had  but  remained  in  the  position  to  which  he  was  fitted ; 
a  man  who  was  a  spoilt  child  of  nature,  endowed  with  courage, 
cool  blood,  and  the  political  astuteness  of  a  C^sar  Borgia. 
But  education  had  not  given  him  that  loftiness  of  mind  and 
conduct  without  which  no  achievement  is  possible  in  any  walk 
of  life.  He  was  not  regretted,  for  the  insidious  action  of  his 
adversary — a  more  worthless  creature  than  himself — had  suc- 
ceeded in  lowering  him  in  public  regard.  His  death  put  an 
end  to  the  exploits  of  the  Knights  of  Idlesse,  to  the  great  satis- 
faction of  the  town  of  Issoudun.  Philippe  got  into  no  trouble 
in  consequence  of  this  duel,  which  indeed  appeared  to  be  the 
outcome  of  divine  vengeance,  and  of  which  the  details  were 
discussed  through  all  the  neighborhood  with  unanimous 
praise  of  the  two  antagonists. 

"They  ought  to  have  killed  each  other,"  said  Monsieur 
Mouilleron.  "That  would  have  been  a  good  riddance  for  the 
Government." 

Flore  Brazier's  position  would  have  been  a  very  embarrass- 
ing one  but  for  the  severe  illness  produced  by  Max's  death; 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMP]NT 


she  had  an  attack  on  the  brain,  complicated  by  dangerous 
inflammation,  brought  on  by  the  fatigues  and  shocks  of  the 
last  three  days.  If  she  had  been  in  her  usual  health,  she 
might  perhaps  have  fled  from  the  house  where,  just  beneath 
her,  in  Max's  room  and  Max's  bed,  lay  Max's  murderer.  For 
three  months  she  hovered  between  life  and  death  under  the 
treatment  of  Monsieur  Goddet,  who  also  attended  Philippe. 

As  soon  as  Philippe  could  hold  a  pen  he  wrote  the  following 
letters : — 

"To  Monsieur  Desroches,  Attorney-at-Law 

"I  have  already  killed  the  more  venomous  of  the  two  beasts, 
not  without  getting  a  hole  in  my  head  from  a  sword-cut,  but 
the  rascal  happily  struck  with  a  dead  hand.  There  remains 
another  viper  with  whom  I  must  try  to  come  to  some  under- 
standing, for  to  my  uncle  she  is  as  his  very  gizzard.  I  was 
much  afraid  lest  this  Eabouilleuse,  who  is  devilish  handsome, 
should  take  herself  off,  for  my  uncle  would  have  gone  after 
her;  but  the  shock  which  came  upon  her  at  an  evil  moment 
has  nailed  her  to  her  bed.  If  God  were  gracious  to  me.  He 
would  take  her  to  Himself  while  she  repents  of  her  sins. 
Meanwhile,  thanks  to  Monsieur  Hochon — the  old  man  is  well 
— I  have  the  doctor  on  my  side,  named  Goddet,  a  good  apostle, 
who  opines  that  an  uncle's  inheritance  is  better  placed  in  his 
nephew's  hands  than  in  those  of  such  a  minx.  Monsieur 
Hochon  exerts  some  influence  over  one  Fichet,  who  has  a 
rich  daughter,  on  whom  Goddet  has  an  eye  as  a  wife  for  his 
son;  so  that  the  thousand-franc  note  that  has  been  dangled 
before  him  for  curing  my  nut  has  little  to  do  with  his  de- 
votion. This  Goddet,  formerly  Surgeon-Major  in  the  Third 
Line  Eegiment,  has  also  been  ^talked  to'  by  my  friends,  two 
brave  officers,  Mignonnet  and  Carpentier,  so  that  he  is  hum- 
bugging his  other  patient. 

"  There  is  a  God  after  all,  you  see,  my  dear,'  says  he,  feel- 
ing her  pulse.  'You  have  caused  a  great  misfortune;  you 
must  repair  the  mischief.    The  hand  of  God  is  in  all  this. 


266 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


(What  the  hand  of  God  is  made  to  do  is  incredible !)  Religion 
is  religion;  submit,  bo  resigned;  to  begin  with,  it  will  calm 
your  mind,  and  do  as  much  to  cure  you  as  my  drugs.  Above 
all,  remain  here  to  take  care  of  your  master.  And  then,  for- 
give !    Forgiveness  is  the  law  of  the  Christian.' 

"This  Goddet  has  promised  that  he  will  keep  la  Rabouii- 
leuse  in  bed  for  three  months.  Perhaps  the  woman  will  in- 
sensibly become  accustomed  to  our  living  under  the  same  roof. 
I  have  secured  the  cook  on  my  side.  The  abominable  old 
thing  tells  her  mistress  that  Max  would  have  made  life  very 
hard  for  her.  She  declares  that  she  heard  the  dead  man  say 
that  if  after  the  old  man's  death  he  should  be  obliged  to  marry 
Flore,  he  did  not  mean  to  clog  his  career  with  a  hussy.  And 
the  cook  even  insinuated  that  Max  v/ould  have  found  means 
to  get  rid  of  her. 

"So  all  is  well.  My  uncle,  by  old  Hochon's  advice,  has  de- 
/stroyed  his  will." 

''To  Monsieur  Giroudeau,  at  Mademoiselle  Florentine's,  Rue 
de  Vendome  au  Marais. 
"My  old  Comrade, — Find  out  whether  that  little  puss 
Cesarine  is  engaged,  and  try  to  persuade  her  to  be  in  readi- 
ness to  come  to  Issoudun  as  soon  as  I  ask  her.  The  little 
slut  must  then  start  by  return  of  post.  She  must  get  herself 
up  respectably,  and  shed  everything  that  smacks  of  the  side- 
scenes  ;  she  would  have  to  figure  in  the  country  as  the  daughter 
of  a  brave  soldier  killed  on  the  field  of  honor.  So  the 
primmest  behavior,  a  school-girl  fit-out,  and  first-class  virtue, 
— these  are  the  order  of  the  day.  If  I  should  need  her,  and  if 
she  is  a  success,  at  my  uncle's  death  she  shall  have  fifty  thou- 
sand francs.  If  she  is  busy,  explain  the  case  to  Florentine, 
and  find  me,  between  you,  some  little  walking  lady  who  can 
play  the  part. 

"I  had  my  scalp  peeled  in  the  duel  with  my  fortune-grabber, 
and  it  has  given  my  eye  a  twist.  I  will  tell  you  all  about  it. 
Ah!  old  man,  we  will  see  good  times  yet,  and  have  plenty 
of  fun  with  others — not  the  same  others.    If  you  can  forward 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


267 


me  five  hundred  flimsies,  I  can  find  use  for  them.  Ta-ta,  old 
cock.  Light  your  pipe  with  this  document.  It  must  be  un- 
derstood that  the  officer's  daughter  hails  from  Chateauroux, 
and  professes  to  be  in  need  of  help.  However,  I  hope  not  to 
be  obliged  to  have  recourse  to  this  dangerous  game.  Ke- 
member  me  to  Mariette  and  all  our  friends.'' 

Agathe,  on  hearing  from  Madame  Hochon,  hastened  to 
Issoudun,  and  was  received  by  her  brother,  who  gave  her 
Philippe's  old  room.  The  poor  mother,  whose  heart  was  soft 
again  towards  her  villainous  son,  enjoyed  a  few  happy  days 
while  hearing  the  citizens  of  Issoudun  sing  the  Colonel's 
praises. 

"After  all,  dear  child,"  said  Madame  Hochon  on  the  day 
of  Agathe's  arrival,  "youth  must  have  its  day.  The  follies  of 
soldiers  who  served  the  Emperor  cannot  be  the  same  as  those 
of  sons  looked  after  by  respectable  fathers.  If  only  you 
could  know  all  the  tricks  that  wretch  Max  would  play  here  by^ 
night !  Now,  thanks  to  your  son,  Issoudun  breathes  and' 
sleeps  in  peace.  Judgment  came  late  to  Philippe,  but  it 
came ;  as  he  told  us,  three  months'  imprisonment  in  the  Lux- 
embourg leaves  a  little  ballast  in  the  brain ;  in  short,  his  con- 
duct here  has  delighted  Monsieur  Hochon,  and  he  has  won 
general  respect.  If  your  son  can  but  remain  a  little  while 
out  of  the  way  of  the  temptations  of  Paris,  he  will  end  by 
giving  you  every  satisfaction." 

Agathe,  as  she  heard  these  comforting  words,  looked  at  her 
godmother  with  eyes  full  of  happy  tears. 

Philippe  played  the  good  boy  to  his  mother;  he  wanted  to 
make  use  of  her.  This  astute  diplomatist  did  not  want  to 
have  recourse  to  Cesarine  unless  he  found  himself  the  object  of 
Flore's  aversion.  He  understood  that  Flore  was  an  admirable 
tool,  moulded  by  Maxence,  and  to  his  uncle  a  habit  of  life; 
he  meant  to  make  use  of  her  rather  than  of  a  Parisian,  who 
might  have  made  the  old  man  marry  her.  Just  as  Fouche 
advised  Louis  XVIII.  to  lie  between  Napoleon's  sheets  rather 
than  to  grant  the  Charter,  Philippe  would  have  liked  to  lie 
VOL.  4—44 


t6S  A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 

quietly  between  Gilet's  sheets.  Still,  he  did  not  wish  to  cast 
a  slur  on  the  reputation  he  had  just  made  in  the  province. 
Now,  to  carry  on  Max's  relations  with  la  Rabouilteuse  would 
be  as  odious  on  his  part  as  on  the  woman's.  He  might,  with- 
out discredit,  live  under  his  uncle's  roof  and  at  his  uncle's 
expense,  in  consideration  of  his  relationship;  but  he  could 
have  nothing  to  say  to  Flore  unless  she  were  rehabilitated. 
In  the  meshes  of  these  difficulties,  the  admirable  plan  occurred 
to  him  of  making  la  Rabouilleuse  his  aunt.  So,  with  this 
scheme  unrevealed,  he  begged  his  mother  to  go  to  see  the 
woman  and  show  her  some  affection,  treating  her  as  a  sister- 
in-law. 

"I  confess,  my  dear  mother,^'  said  he,  with  a  sanctimonious 
air,  and  looking  at  Monsieur  and  Madame  Hochon,  who  had 
come  to  sit  with  their  dear  Agathe,  "that  my  nucleus  way  of 
life  is  unseemly ;  he  has  only  to  legalize  matters  to  win  the  re- 
spect of  the  town  for  Mademoiselle  Brazier.  Would  it  not  be 
better  for  her  to  be  Madame  Eouget  than  the  housekeeper- 
mistress  of  an  old  bachelor  ?  Is  it  not  a  simpler  matter  to  ac- 
quire  legal  rights  by  marriage  than  to  try  to  oust  a  family  of 
legitimate  heirs  ? — If  you,  Monsieur  Hochon,  or  some  worthy 
priest,  would  speak  of  this  affair,  it  would  put  an  end  to  a 
scandal  that  offends  respectable  people.  Then  Mademoiselle 
Brazier  would  be  made  happy  by  finding  herself  welcomed  by 
you  as  a  sister  and  by  me  as  an  aunt." 

Next  day  Madame  Hochon  and  Agathe  stood  by  Mademoi- 
selle Flore  Brazier's  bedside,  where  they  set  forth  to  the  in- 
valid and  to  Rouget  all  Philippe's  admirable  sentiments. 
The  Colonel  was  lauded  throughout  the  town  as  a  man  of 
lofty  and  excellent  character,  especially  in  his  conduct  with 
regard  to  Flore.  For  a  whole  month  the  advantages  to  be 
derived  from  her  marriage  with  old  Rouget  were  impressed 
on  Flore  by  Pere  Goddet,  her  doctor — a  powerful  influence 
over  the  mind  of  a  patient — by  good  Madame  Hochon  speak- 
ing in  behalf  of  religion,  and  by  the  gentle  and  pious  Agatho. 

Then  when,  fascinated  by  the  idea  of  being  Madame  Rouget 
and  a  respectable  and  respected  citizen's  wife,  she  was  only 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


eager  to  be  well  and  celebrate  the  wedding,  it  was  not  difficult 
to  make  her  understand  that  she  could  not  become  one  of  the 
old  family  of  liouget  by  turning  Philiijpe  out  of  doors. 

"And,  after  all/^  said  old  Goddet,  "is  it  not  to  him  that  you 
owe  this  high  preferment?  Max  would  never  have  allowed 
you  to  marry  Pere  Rouget.  And  then/'  he  whispered  in  her 
ear,  "if  you  have  children,  will  not  Max  be  avenged?  The 
Bridaus  will  get  nothing/^ 

Two  months  after  the  fatal  event,  in  February  1823,  the 
invalid,  by  the  advice  of  all  about  her,  and  implored  by 
Eouget,  received  Philippe,  whose  scar  made  her  weep,  but 
whose  manner  to  her,  softened  almost  to  affection,  soothed  her 
greatly.  By  Philippe's  desire  he  was  left  alone  with  his 
future  aunt. 

"My  dear  girl,"  said  the  soldier,  "I,  from  the  first,  have 
advised  that  you  should  marry  my  uncle ;  and  if  you  consent, 
it  can  be  done  as  soon  as  you  are  recovered  '' 

"So  I  am  told,"  said  she. 

"It  is  only  natural  that  as  circumstances  compelled  me 
to  do  you  an  injury,  I  want  to  do  you  as  much  good  as 
possible.  A  fortune,  a  position,  and  a  family  are  worth  more 
than  you  have  lost.  At  my  uncle's  death  you  would  not  long 
have  been  that  fellow's  wife,  for  I  have  heard  from  his 
friends  that  he  had  no  happy  lot  in  store  for  you  !  Look  here, 
my  dear  child,  let  us  understand  each  other.  We  will  all 
live  happily.    You  are  to  be  my  aunt — nothing  but  my  aunt. 

"You  must  take  care  that  my  uncle  does  not  forget  me 
in  his  will;  on  my  part,  you  shall  see  how  I  will  have  you 
provided  for  in  the  settlements.  Keep  calm,  think  it  over; 
we  will  speak  of  it  again.  As  you  see,  the  most  sensible  people, 
all  the  town,  advise  you  to  abandon  an  illegal  position ;  and 
nobody  objects  to  your  seeing  me.  Every  one  understands 
that  in  life  sentiment  must  give  way  to  interest.  You  will 
be  handsomer  than  ever  on  your  marriage  day.  Your  illness, 
by  leaving  you  pale,  has  given  you  a  distinguished  air.  If  my 
uncle  were  not  so  desperately  in  love  with  you,  on  my  honor," 
said  he,  rising  and  kissing  her  hand,  "you  would  be  the  wife  of 
Colonel  Bridau." 


270  A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 

Philippe  went  away,  leaving  this  last  speech  in  Florets  mind 
to  arouse  a  vague  idea  of  revenge,  which  smiled  on  the  woman, 
who  was  almost  happy  at  having  seen  this  terrible  personage 
at  her  feet.  Philippe  had  just  played,  in  little,  the  scene  that 
Eichard  III.  plays  with  the  queen  he  has  lately  made  a 
widow.  The  upshot  of  the  scene  shows  that  interest  wrapped 
up  in  feeling  strikes  very  deeply  into  the  heart,  and  dispels 
the  most  genuine  grief.  This  is  how,  in  private  life,  Nature 
allows  herself  to  accomplish  what  in  works  of  genius  is  a 
master-stroke  of  art ;  interest  is  the  means  by  which  she  works, 
the  genius  of  money. 

Thus,  in  the  beginning  of  April  1823,  Jean- Jacques 
Eouget^s  room  presented  the  spectacle  of  a  magnificent  dinner 
in  honor  of  the  signing  of  a  marriage-contract  between  Made- 
moiselle Flore  Brazier  and  the  old  bachelor.  No  one  was  at 
all  surprised.  The  guests  were  Monsieur  Heron;  the  four 
witnesses — Messieurs  Mignonnet,  Carpentier,  Hochon,  ami 
the  elder  Goddet;  the  Maire  and  the  parish  priest;  Agathe 
Bridau,  Madame  Hochon,  and  her  friend  Madame  Borniche, 
that  is  to  say,  the  two  old  women  who  were  authoritative  in 
Issoudun.  And  the  bride  was  keenly  alive  to  this  concession, 
won  for  her  by  Philippe,  the  ladies  regarding  it  as  a  mark 
of  protection  needed  by  a  penitent  damsel.  Flore  was  daz- 
zlingly  beautiful.  The  cure,  who  had  for  a  fortnight  been 
catechizing  the  ignorant  Eabouilleuse,  was  to  give  her  next 
morning  her  first  Communion. 

This  wedding  was  the  subject  of  the  following  article,  pub- 
lished in  the  J ournal  du  Cher  at  Bourges,  and  in  the  J ournal 
de  rindre  at  Chateauroux : — 

"Issoudun. 

"The  religious  movement  is  making  progress  in  le  Berry. 
All  the  friends  of  the  Church  and  respectable  people  in  this 
town  collected  yesterday  to  witness  a  ceremony,  by  which  one 
of  the  chief  landowners  in  this  part  of  the  country  put  an  end 
to  a  scandalous  state  of  affairs  dating  from  a  time  when  re- 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


271 


ligion  was  a  dead  letter  in  these  parts.  This  issue,  due  to 
the  enlightened  zeal  of  the  ecclesiastics  of  this  town,  will,  w^e 
hope,  find  imitators,  and  put  an  end  to  these  discreditable 
"unsanctitied  unions,  begun  at  the  most  disastrous  period  of 
the  Eevolutionary  misrule. 

*^One  thing  is  noteworthy  in  the  case  of  which  we  write; 
it  was  brought  about  by  the  urgency  of  a  Colonel  of  the  Im- 
perial Army,  quartered  in  our  town  by  a  sentence  of  the  Su- 
preme Court,  who,  by  this  marriage,  may  forfeit  his  uncle's 
fortune.  Such  disinterestedness  is  rare  enough  in  our  day  to 
deserve  to  be  made  public/' 

Under  the  contract  Rouget  settled  on  Flore  a  sum  of  a 
hundred  thousand  francs,  and  an  annuity  in  case  of  widow- 
hood of  thirty  thousand  francs.  After  the  wedding,  which 
was  splendid,  Agathe  went  back  to  Paris,  the  happiest  of 
mothers,  and  there  gave  to  Joseph  and  Desroches  what  she 
called  the  good  news. 

"Your  son  is  much  too  deep  not  to  lay  hands  on  her  in- 
heritance," replied  the  attorney,  when  he  had  heard  Madame 
Bridau  out.  "And  you  and  your  poor  J oseph  will  never  have 
a  farthing  of  your  brother's  fortune." 

"You  will  always  be  the  same — ^you  and  Joseph — always 
unjust  to  that  poor  boy,"  said  his  mother.  "His  conduct 
before  the  Court  was  that  of  a  great  politician.  He  succeeded 
in  saving  a  great  many  heads ! — Philippe's  errors  are  the 
outcome  of  want  of  occupation ;  his  great  powers  lie  idle ;  but 
he  has  learned  how  injurious  faults  of  conduct  must  be  to  a 
man  who  wants  to  rise  in  the  world,  and  he  has  ambition,  I 
am  sure ;  nor  am  I  the  only  person  who  believes  in  his  future. 
Monsieur  Hochon  is  firmly  convinced  that  Philippe  has  a  high 
destiny." 

"Oh  yes,"  said  Desroches,  "if  he  chooses  to  apply  his  utterly 
perverse  intelligence  to  making  a  fortune  he  will  succeed,  for 
he  is  capable  of  anything,  and  men  of  that  stamp  get  on  fast." 

"And  why  should  he  not  succeed  by  honest  means?"  said 
Madame  Bridau. 


272 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


"You  will  see,"  answered  Desroches.    "Lucky  or  unlucky 
Philippe  will  always  be  the  man  of  the  Eue  Mazarine,  th 
murderer  of  Madame  Descoings,  the  household  thief.  But 
be  easy;  he  will  seem  perfectly  honest  in  the  eyes  of  the 
world." 

On  the  day  after  the  marriage  Philippe  took  Madame 
Eouget  by  the  arm,  when  his  uncle  had  gone  upstairs  to  dress, 
for  the  couple  had  come  down  to  breakfast,  Flore  in  a  wrapper, 
and  the  old  man  in  his  dressing-gown. 

"Aunt-in-law,"  said  he,  leading  her  into  a  window  recess, 
"you  are  now  a  member  of  the  family.  Thanks  to  me,  the 
lawyers  have  taken  care  of  you.  Now  come !  no  nonsense.  I 
mean  to  play  the  game  with  the  cards  on  the  table.  I  know 
all  the  tricks  you  could  play  me,  and  I  shall  keep  a  sharper 
eye  on  you  than  any  duenna.  As  to  what  goes  on  in  the 
house,  I  shall  sit  there,  by  Heaven !  like  a  spider  in  the  middle 
of  its  web. — Now^  this  will  show  you  that  while  you  were  ii 
'bed,  unable  to  move  hand  or  foot,  I  could  have  had  you  turne.'i' 
out  of  doors  without  a  sou.    Read  this." 

And  he  held  out  to  Flore  the  following  letter : — 

"My  dear  Boy, — Florentine,  who  has  at  last  come  out  at 
the  Opera,  in  the  new  house,  in  a  pas  de  trois  with  Marietta 
and  Tullia,  has  never  forgotten  you,  any  more  than  Florine, 
who  has  finally  thrown  over  Lousteau  and  taken  up  with 
Nathan.  These  two  sly-boots  have  found  you  the  sweetest 
creature  in  the  world,  a  child  of  seventeen,  as  pretty  as  an 
English  girl,  as  prim  as  a  lady  at  her  tricks,  as  cunning  as 
Desroches,  as  trustworthy  as  Godeschal;  and  Mariette  has 
rigged  her  out,  and  wishes  you  good  luck.  There  is  no 
woman  living  who  could  hold  her  own  against  this  angel, 
concealing  a  demon;  she  will  be  able  to  play  any  part,  to  get 
round  your  uncle,  and  make  him  crazy  with  love.  She  has 
the  heavenly  expression  that  poor  Coralie  had;  she  can  cry, 
she  has  a  voice  that  would  extract  a  thousand-franc  note  fvovc 
a  heart  of  the  hardest  granite,  and  the  hussy  swigs  down 
champagne  with  the  best  of  us.    She  is  a  jewel  of  a  girl;  she 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


273 


is  under  obligations  to  Mariette,  and  is  anxious  to  make  some 
return.  After  gulping  dov/n  the  fortunes  of  two  P]nglish- 
men,  one  Russian,  and  a  Roman  prince,  Mademoiselle  P]sther 
is  just  now  in  very  low  water.  If  you  give  her  ten  thousand 
francs,  she  will  be  content.  She  said  just  now,  *Well,  I  have 
never  had  a  citizen  to  wheedle;  it  will  be  practice  for  me!' 
Finot  knows  her  well,  Bixiou,  des  Lupeaulx,  all  our  set,  in 
fact.  If  there  were  any  fortunes  left  in  France,  she  would 
be  the  most  famous  courtesan  of  modern  times. 

"My  style  smacks  of  Nathan,  Bixiou,  and  Finot,  who  are 
playing  the  fool  with  the  above-named  Esther,  in  the  most 
splendid  rooms  you  can  imagine,  which  have  just  been  ar- 
ranged a  la  Florine  by  old  Lord  Dudley,  Marsay's  real  father, 
\vhom  the  clever  little  actress  has  quite  bowled  over,  thanks 
to  the  costume  of  her  new  part.  Tullia  is  still  with  the  Due 
de  Rhetore,  Mariette  with  the  Due  de  Maufrigneuse,  so  they 
between  them  can  get  you  a  ticket-of-leave  on  the  King's  fete 
day.  Try  to  have  your  uncle  safe  under  the  daisies  by  next 
Saint-Louis'  Day,  come  back  with  the  fortune,  and  spend 
some  of  it  with  Esther  and  your  old  friends,  who  sign  in  a 
body  to  remind  you  of  their  existence. 

"Nathan,  Florine,  Bixiou,  Finot,  Mariette, 
"Florentine,  Giroudeau,  Tullia." 

This  letter  quivered  in  Madame  Rouget^s  hands  in  a  way 
that  betrayed  her  agitation  of  mind  and  body.  The  aunt 
dared  not  look  at  the  nephew,  who  fixed  on  her  a  pair  of  eyes 
full  of  terrible  expression. 

"I  have  full  confidence  in  you,"  said  he.  "You  see  that 
I  have;  but  I  must  have  something  in  return.  I  made  you 
my  aunt  in  order  to  marry  you  some  day.  You  are  worth 
quite  as  much  as  Esther  to  my  uncle.  A  year  hence  we  must 
go  to  Paris,  the  only  place  where  beauty  can  live.  You  wdll 
enjoy  yourself  rather  more  than  you  do  here,  for  it  is  a  per- 
petual carnival.  I  shall  rejoin  the  army  and  be  made  a 
general,  and  you  will  be  a  great  lady.  That  is  your  future; 
work  it  out. — But  I  must  have  a  pledge  of  our  alliance. 


274 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


Within  one  month  you  must  procure  for  me  my  uncle's  power 
of  attorney  under  the  pretext  of  relieving  you  and  him  alike 
of  the  cares  of  money.  One  month  after  I  must  have  a  special 
power  to  transfer  his  stock.  When  once  the  securities  are  in 
my  name,  we  shall  have  an  equal  interest  in  marrying  each 
other  some  day.  All  that,  my  fair  aunt,  is  plain  and  precise. 
There  must  be  no  ambiguity  between  you  and  me.  I  may 
marry  my  aunt-in-law  after  a  year's  widowhood,  whereas 
I  could  not  marry  a  disreputable  nobody.'^ 

He  left  the  room  without  awaiting  her  answer.  When,  an 
hour  later,  Vedie  came  in  to  clear  away  the  breakfast,  she 
found  her  mistress  pale  and  in  a  perspiration  in  spite  of  the 
cool  season.  Flore  was  feeling  like  a  woman  who  has  fallen 
to  the  bottom  of  a  precipice ;  she  saw  nothing  before  her  but 
blackness,  and  on  that  blackness,  as  in  some  dark  beyond, 
flitted  monstrous  things,  indistinctly  seen,  and  filling  h(ir 
with  terror.  She  felt  the  damp  chill  of  these  caverns.  She 
was  instinctively  afraid  of  this  man,  and  nevertheless  a  voice 
cried  to  her  that  she  deserved  to  have  him  for  her  master., 
She  could  not  struggle  against  fate;  Flore  Brazier,  for 
decency's  sake,  had  rooms  in  Pere  Rouget's  house,  hut 
Madame  Rouget  belonged  to  her  husband,  and  so  was  bereft 
of  the  inestimable  independence  that  a  housekeeper-mistress? 
preserves. 

In  this  dreadful  position  she  hoped  she  might  have  a  child ; 
but  in  the  last  five  years  Jean- Jacques  had  become  absolutely 
decrepit.  This  marriage  was  to  the  poor  old  man  what  Louis 
XII.'s  second  marriage  was  to  him.  Again,  the  constant 
watchfulness  of  such  a  man  as  Philippe,  who  i  ^  nothing  to 
do,  for  he  gave  up  his  employment,  made  any  kind  of 
vengeance  impossible.  Benjamin  was  an  innocent  but  de- 
voted spy.  La  Vedie  quaked  in  Philippe's  presence.  Flore 
was  alone  and  helpless.  To  crown  all,  she  was  afraid  of 
death;  without  knowing  how  Philippe  could  make  away  with 
her,  she  guessed  that  the  suspicion  of  a  coming  heir  would 
be  her  death-warrant;  the  sound  of  that  voice,  the  covert  flash 
of  that  gambler's  eye,  the  soldier's  slightest  movement — treat- 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


275 


ing  her  as  he  did  with  the  politest  brutality — made  her 
shudder.  As  to  the  power  of  attorney  demanded  by  the 
ferocious  Colonel,  who  was  a  hero  in  the  eyes  of  Issoudun, 
he  had  it  as  soon  as  he  asked  for  it;  for  Flore  fell  under  his 
dominion  as  France  had  fallen  under  that  of  Napoleon. 

Rouget  meanwhile,  like  a  moth  whose  feet  are  caught  in 
the  burning  wax  of  a  taper,  was  fast  wasting  his  remaining 
strength ;  and  his  nephew,  looking  on  at  this  lingering  death, 
was  as  unmoved  as  the  diplomatists  who,  in  1814,  watched  the 
convulsions  of  Imperial  France. 

Philippe,  who  had  no  belief  in  Napoleon  II.,  then  wrote 
the  following  letter  to  the  War  Minister,  and  Mariette  got  it 
delivered  by  the  Due  de  Mauf rigneuse : — 

"MONSEIGNEUR, — 

''^Napoleon  no  longer  lives.  I  remained  faithful  to  him 
after  taking  the  oath;  but  now  I  am  at  liberty  to  offer  my 
services  to  His  Majesty.  If  your  Excellency  would  con- 
descend to  explain  my  conduct  to  His  Majesty,  the  King  will 
imderstand  that  it  has  conformed  to  the  laws  of  honor,  if  not 
to  those  of  the  realm.  The  King,  who  thought  it  but  natural 
tliat  his  aide-de-camp.  General  Rapp,  should  mourn  for  his 
f'ormer  master,  will  no  doubt  be  equally  indulgent  to  me. 
Napoleon  was  my  benefactor. 

"I  therefore  entreat  your  Excellency  to  take  into  considera- 
tion my  request  for  employment  with  my  full  rank,  assuring 
you  of  my  entire  submission.  This  will  show  you,  monsei- 
gneur,  that  the  King  will  find  me  the  most  faithful  of  his  sub- 
jects. 

"Accept,  I  beg,  the  expression  of  respect  with  which  I  have 
the  honor  to  remain 

"Your  Excellency's 

"Most  obedient  and  most  humble  servant, 
"Philippe  Bridau. 

"Formerly  Major  of  Brigade  in  the  Dragoon  Guards ;  Officer 
of  the  Legion  of  Honor,  under  surveillance  of  the  State 
Police  of  Issoudun." 


276 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


With  this  letter  was  a  request  for  permission  to  visit  Paris 
on  urgent  private  affairs,  supported  by  Mouilleron,  who 
annexed  letters  from  the  Maire,  the  Sous-prefet,  and  the 
Superintendent  of  Police  at  Issoudun,  who  all  spoke  in  praise 
of  Philippe,  and  dwelt  on  the  article  written  on  the  occasion 
of  his  uncle^s  marriage. 

A  fortnight  later,  at  the  time  when  the  picture  exhibition 
was  opened,  Philippe  received  the  permit  he  had  asked  for, 
and  a  letter,  in  which  the  War  Minister  informed  him  that, 
by  the  King's  orders,  he  was,  as  a  first  favor,  reinstated  on  the 
Army  List  as  Lieutenant-Colonel. 

Philippe  moved  to  Paris  with  his  aunt  and  old  Rouget,. 
whom  he  carried  off  to  the  Treasury  three  days  after  their 
arrival  to  sign  the  transfer  of  the  State  bond,  which  thus  be- 
came his  own  property.  The  feeble  old  man  and  la  Eabouil- 
leuse  were  flung  by  their  nephew  into  frantic  dissipations 
and  the  dangerous  company  of  indefatigable  actresses,  jour- 
nalists., artists,  and  women  of  equivocal  character,  among 
whom  Philippe  had  spent  his  youth,  and  where  old  Eouget 
found  Rabouilleuses  enough  to  be  the  death  of  him.  Girou- 
deau  undertook  that  Pere  Rouget  should  die  the  happy  death 
made  famous  since,  it  is  said,  by  a  Marshal  of  France.  Lolotte, 
one  of  the  handsomest  "walking  ladies"  at  the  Opera,  was 
Rouget's  bewitching  assassin.  The  old  man  died  after  a 
splendid  supper  given  by  Florentine ;  and  whether  the  supper 
or  Mademoiselle  Lolotte  finished  off  the  old  provincial,  it  is 
difficult  to  decide.  Lolotte  ascribed  his  death  to  a  slice  of 
paU  de  foie  gras;  and  as  the  Strasbourg  pie  could  make  no 
rejoinder,  it  is  taken  as  proved  that  the  good  man  died  of  in- 
digestion. 

Madame  Rouget  found  herself  in  her  element  in  this  ex- 
cessively free-and-easy  society;  but  Philippe  gave  her 
Mariette  for  a  chaperon,  and  she  did  not  allow  the  widow  to 
play  the  fool,  though  her  mourning  was  lightened  by  some 
flirtations. 

In  October  1823  Philippe,  armed  with  a  power  of  attorney 
from  his  aunt,  returned  to  Issoudun  to  v/ind  up  his  uncle's 


A  BACHELOR'S  KS'I  AliLISHMENT  271 

estate,  a  business  quickly  accomplished,  for  in  March  1824 
he  was  in  Paris  with  sixteen  hundred  thousand  f  rancs,  the 
net  value  in  hard  cash  of  his  deceased  uncle's  estate,  not  in- 
clusive of  the  valuable  pictures,  which  had  nevei  been  moved 
from  old  Hochon's  keeping.  Philippe  banked  his  money 
with  Mongenod  &  Son,  the  house  in  which  young  Baruch 
Borniche  had  found  a  berth,  and  of  whose  solvency  and  hon- 
esty old  Hochon  had  given  a  satisfactory  report.  This  firm' 
hook  the  sixteen  hundred  thousand  francs  at  six  per  cent  per 
annum,  on  condition  of  three  months'  notice  being  given 
previous  to  withdrawal  of  the  capital. 

One  fine  day  Philippe  went  to  request  his  mother's  presence 
at  his  marriage,  the  witnesses  being  Giroudeau,  Finot, 
Nathan,  and  Bixiou.  By  the  marriage  contract  Madame 
Eouget,  widow,  settled  all  her  possessions  on  her  husband 
in  the  event  of  her  dying  childless.  There  were  no  letters  of 
formal  announcement,  no  party,  no  display,  for  Philippe  had 
his  own  schemes ;  he  took  rooms  for  his  wife  in  the  Kue  Saint- 
Georges,  an  apartment  sold  ready  furnished  by  Lolotte,  which 
Madame  Bridau  the  younger  thought  delightful,  but  where 
her  husband  rarely  set  foot. 

Without  letting  anybody  know  what  he  was  doing,  Philippe 
purchased  for  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs  a  house 
in  the  Eue  de  Clichy,  at  a  time  when  no  one  suspected  the 
value  which  property  in  that  part  of  the  town  would  attain — 
a  magnificent  mansion,  for  which  he  paid  fifty  thousand 
crowns  down,  the  rest  to  be  paid  oft'  in  two  years.  He  spent 
enormous  sums  on  the  interior  and  in  furnishing  it,  devoting 
to  this  his  whole  income  for  two  years.  The  splendid  pictures, 
cleaned  and  restored,  and  valued  at  three  hundred  thousand 
francs,  were  displayed  to  full  advantage. 

The  accession  of  Charles  X.  had  raised  to  greater  favor 
than  ever  the  Due  de  Chaulieu's  family;  and  his  eldest  son, 
the  Due  de  Ehetore,  often  met  Philippe  at  Tullia's.  In  the 
person  of  Charles  X.  the  elder  branch  of  the  Bourbons  sup-^ 
posed  itself  to  be  definitely  seated  on  the  throne,  and  it  fol- 
lowed the  advice  given  at  an  earlier  time  by  Marshal  Gouvion 


278 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


Saint-Cyr  to  secure  the  attachment  of  the  soldiers  of  the  Em- 
pire. Philippe,  who,  no  doubt,  gave  valuable  information 
as  to  the  conspiracies  of  1820  and  1822,  was  appointed  Lieu- 
tenant-Colonel in  the  Due  de  Maufrigneuse's  regiment.  This 
delightful  grand  gentleman  felt  himself  under  an  obligation 
to  help  the  man  who  had  robbed  him  of  Mariette.  The  corps 
de  ballet  were  not  without  some  knowledge  of  this  promotion. 

It  had,  moreover,  been  decided  by  the  wisdom  of  Charles 
X.'s  privy  council  that  His  Royal  Highness  the  Dauphin 
should  assume  a  slight  tinge  of  Liberalism.  Hence  the  great 
Philippe,  now  the  satellite  of  the  Due  de  Maufrigneuse,  was 
presented  not  only  to  the  Dauphin,  but  also  to  the  Dauphiness, 
who  was  not  ill  disposed  towards  blunt  manners  and  military 
men  with  a  character  for  fidelity.  Philippe  quite  appreciated 
the  Dauphin's  part,  and  he  took  advantage  of  the  first  per- 
formance of  this  assumed  Liberalism  to  get  himself  appointed 
aide-de-camp  to  a  marshal  in  favor  at  Court. 

In  January  1827  Philippe,  transferred  to  the  King's  Body- 
guard as  Lieutenant-Colonel  of  the  regiment  to  which  the 
Due  de  Maufrigneuse  had  been  appointed,  solicited  the  honor 
of  being  allowed  to  assume  a  title.  Under  the  Restoration 
ennoblement  became  almost  a  right  of  the  commoners  who 
were  promoted  to  the  Guards.  Colonel  Bridau,  having  just 
bought  the  estate  of  Brambourg,  craved  permission  to  entail 
the  property  with  the  title  of  Count.  This  favor  he  obtained 
by  taking  advantage  of  his  connections  in  the  highest  circles, 
appearing  with  a  gorgeous  display  of  carriages  and  liveries, 
in  short,  with  the  air  and  style  of  a  lord. 

No  sooner  did  Philippe,  Lieutenant-Colonel  of  the  most 
dashing  cavalry  regiment  of  the  Guards,  see  his  name  in  the 
Army  List  as  Comte  de  Brambourg  than  he  took  to  hanging 
about  the  house  of  Lieutenant-General  the  Comte  de  Sou- 
langes,  and  paying  attention  to  his  younger  daughter,  Made- 
moiselle Amelie  de  Soulanges.  The  insatiable  Philippe,  sup- 
ported by  the  mistresses  of  the  most  influential  men,  next 
craved  the  honor  of  being  made  aide-de-camp  to  Monseigneur 
the  Dauphin.    He  had  the  audacity  to  say  to  the  Dauphiness 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


279 


that  "an  old  officer,  wounded  in  many  a  battle  and  familiar 
with  war  on  a  grand  scale,  might  on  occasion  be  of  use  to  His 
Koyal  Highness." 

Philippe,  who  could  take  the  tone  of  any  servility,  was, 
in  these  high  circles,  exactly  v/hat  he  ought  to  be,  just  as  he 
had  been  a  second  Mignonnet  at  Issoudun.  He  lived  in  the 
greatest  style,  gave  splendid  entertainments  and  dinners, 
admitting  to  his  house  none  of  his  old  friends  whose  position 
might  compromise  his  prospects.  Thus  he  was  pitiless  to  the 
companions  of  his  debaucheries.  He  refused  point-blank 
when  Bixiou  asked  him  to  speak  a  word  in  favor  of  Giroudeau, 
who  wished  to  rejoin  the  service  when  Florentine  threw  him 
over. 

"He  cannot  behave  himself,"  said  Philippe. 

"So  that  was  what  he  said  of  me !"  cried  Giroudeau.  "And 
I  relieved  him  of  his  uncle !" 

"We  will  serve  him  out,"  said  Bixiou. 

Philippe  wanted  to  marry  Mademoiselle  Amelie  de 
Soulanges,  to  be  made  a  general,  and  to  have  the  command 
of  a  regiment  of  the  Bodyguard.  He  asked  for  so  much 
that,  to  keep  him  quiet,  he  was  made  Commander  of  the 
Legion  of  Honor,  and  of  the  Order  of  Saint-Louis. 

One  evening  Agathe  and  J oseph,  walking  homewards  in  the 
rain,  saw  Philippe  drive  past  in  uniform,  covered  with  Orders ; 
he  was  lounging  in  a  corner  of  his  handsome  coupe,  lined  with 
yellow  silk,  and  with  a  coat-of-arms  on  the  panel  surmounted 
by  a  Count's  coronet,  on  his  way  to  an  entertainment  at  the 
Elysee-Bourbon ;  he  splashed  his  mother  and  brother,  recog- 
nizing them  with  a  patronizing  nod. 

"He  is  going  it ;  he  is  going  it !  the  old  rogue  !"  said  Joseph 
to  his  mother.  "At  the  same  time  he  might  send  us  some- 
thing better  than  the  mud  in  our  faces." 

"He  is  in  such  a  splendid  position,  so  far  above  us,  that 
we  must  not  owe  him  a  grudge  if  he  forgets  us,"  said  Madame 
Bridau.  "To  climb  so  steep  a  hill,  he  must  have  so  many 
obligations  to  fulfil,  so  many  sacrifices  to  make,  that  he  may 
well  be  unable  to  come  to  see  us  even  while  thinking  of  us." 


280 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


"My  dear  fellow/'  said  the  Due  de  Maufrigneuse  one  even- 
ing to  the  new  Comte  de  Brambourg.  "I  am  sure  that  your 
proposal  will  be  taken  in  good  part;  but  to  marry  Made- 
moiselle Amelie  de  Soulanges  you  must  be  a  free  man.  What 
have  you  done  with  your  wife 

"My  wife  said  Philippe,  with  a  gesture,  a  look,  an  accent 
such  as  Frederick  Lemaitre  afterwards  conceived  of  in  one  of 
his  most  terrible  parts.  "Alas !  I  have  the  melancholy  cer- 
tainty of  losing  her.  She  has  not  a  week  to  live.  Ah !  my 
dear  Duke,  you  do  not  know  what  it  is  to  have  married  be- 
neath you !  A  woman  who  had  been  a  cook,  who  has  the 
tastes  of  a  cook,  and  who  brings  dishonor  on  me, — I  am  much 
to  be  pitied.  But  I  have  had  the  honor  of  explaining  the 
situation  to  Madame  the  Dauphiness ;  the  necessity  arose  some 
time  since  for  saving  a  million  of  francs,  which  my  uncle  had 
left  by  will  to  this  creature.  Happily,  my  wife  has  taken  to 
drams ;  at  her  death  I  become  the  possessor  of  a  million  in  the 
hands  of  Messrs.  Mongenod;  I  have  more  than  thirty  thou- 
sand francs  in  the  five  per  cents;  and  my  estate — entailed — 
which  brings  in  forty  thousand  francs  a  year.  If,  as  every- 
thing leads  us  to  suppose.  Monsieur  de  Soulanges  receives 
a  Marshal's  baton,  1,  with  the  title  of  Comte  de  Brambourg, 
am  in  a  position  to  become  general  and  a  peer  of  France. 
It  will  be  a  fitting  retirement  for  an  aide-de-camp  to  the 
Dauphin.'' 

After  the  Salon  of  1823  the  painter  to  the  King,  one  of  the 
kindest-hearted  men  of  his  day,  had  obtained  for  Joseph's 
mother  a  lottery-ticket  office  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  Halle. 
Subsequently  Agathe  was  fortunate  enough  to  be  able  to 
exchange,  without  paying  any  premium,  with  the  holder  of  a 
similar  office  in  the  Kue  de  Seine,  in  a  house  where  Joseph 
look  a  studio.  The  widow  now,  in  her  turn,  employed  a  clerk, 
and  cost  her  son  nothing.  Still,  in  1828,  though  at  the  head 
of  a  very  good  lottery  office,  which  she  owed  to  Joseph's  fame, 
Madame  Bridau  did  not  yet  believe  in  his  glory — which,  in- 
deed, was  hotly  disputed, as  all  true  glory  is.  The  great  painter, 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


281 


always  struggling  with  his  passions,  wanted  much;  he  could 
not  earn  enough  to  keep  up  the  luxur}'  required  by  his  posi- 
tion in  society,  and  by  his  distinguished  eminence  in  the 
younger  school.  Though  he  had  warm  adherents  in  his 
friends  of  the  Art  Society,  and  in  Mademoiselle  des  Touches, 
he  did  not  appeal  to  the  Philistine.  This  Creature,  in  whose 
hands  the  money  lies  nowadays,  never  loosens  his  purse- 
strings  for  talent  that  can  be  questioned;  and  Joseph  saw  the 
classicists  and  the  Institute  arrayed  against  him,  with  critics 
who  waited  on  these  two  powers.  Besides,  the  Comte  de 
Brambourg  affected  amazement  when  any  one  spoke  to  him  of 
Joseph.  So  the  courageous  artist,  though  upheld  by  Gros  and 
Gerard,  who  secured  him  the  Cross  during  the  Salon  of  1827, 
had  few  commissions.  If  the  Minister  of  the  Interior  and  the 
Royal  Establishments  were  little  inclined  to  purchase  his 
large  pictures,  the  dealers  and  wealthy  foreigners  still  less 
cared  to  be  burdened  with  them.  Besides,  as  we  know, 
Joseph  allows  himself  to  be  rather  too*"  much  led  away  by 
fancy,  and.  the  result  is  an  inequality  of  work,  of  which  his 
enemies  take  advantage  to  dispute  his  talent. 

"Painting  on  the  heroic  scale  is  in  a  bad  way,"  said  his 
friend  Pierre  Grassou,  as  he  turned  out  daubs  to  the  taste  of 
the  Philistines,  whose  rooms  were  ill  suited  to  large  canvases. 

"What  you  want  is  a  cathedral  to  decorate,''  Schinner 
would  say,  "then  you  would  reduce  criticism  to  silence  by 
some  great  work." 

All  these  speeches,  which  frightened  good  Agathe,  con= 
firmed  her  first  opinion  of  Joseph  and  Philippe.  Facts  were 
on  the  side  of  the  woman,  who  was  still  so  entirely  provincial ; 
was  not  Philippe,  her  favorite  child,  at  last  the  great  man  of 
the  family  ?  She  looked  on  the  sins  of  the  boy's  youth  as  the 
aberrations  of  genius.  Joseph,  whose  efforts  left  her  un- 
moved— for  she  saw  too  much  of  them  in  their  early  state 
to  admire  them  when  finished — seemed  to  her  no  further 
forward  in  1828  than  in  1816.  Poor  Joseph  owed  money; 
he  was  crushed  under  the  weight  of  debt ;  he  had  taken  up  a 
thankless  calling  that  brought  no  returns.    In  short,  Agathe 


282 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


could  not  imagine  why  an  Order  should  have  been  bestowed 
on  Joseph. 

Philippe,  with  strength  enough  never  to  go  to  the  gaming 
table,  and  invited  to  Madame's  entertainments,  the  splendid 
Colonel,  who  at  reviews  and  in  processions  rode  past  in  a 
gorgeous  uniform,  gaudy  with  two  red  ribbons,  realized 
Agathe's  maternal  dreams.  One  day  at  a  public  ceremonial 
Philippe  had  wiped  out  the  odious  picture  of  his  poverty  on 
the  Quai  de  Fficole,  by  passing  his  mother  on  the  same  spot, 
preceding  the  Dauphin,  with  his  aigrette,  and  his  shako,  and 
his  pelisse  splendid  with  gold-lace  and  fur.  While  to  the 
artist  she  had  become  a  sort  of  devoted  Grey  Sister,  Agathe 
no  longer  felt  herself  a  mother  excepting  to  the  dashing  aide- 
de-camp  to  His  Eoyal  Highness  Monseigneur  the  Dauphin. 
In  her  pride  of  Philippe  she  could  have  believed  that  she 
owed  her  easier  means  to  him,  forgetting  that  the  lottery 
office  had  come  to  her  through  J oseph. 

One  day  Agathe  saw  her  poor  artist  so  much  worried  by  the 
heavy  total  of  his  colorman's  bill,  that,  while  cursing  the  arts, 
she  longed  to  release  him  from  his  debts.  The  poor  woman, 
who  kept  house  on  the  proceeds  of  her  lottery  tickets,  took 
good  care  never  to  ask  Joseph  for  a  farthing.  Thus,  she  had  no 
money;  but  she  trusted  to  Philippe^s  kind  heart  and  purse. 
For  three  years,  from  day  to  day,  she  had  expected  a  visit 
from  her  son;  she  pictured  him  bringing  her  an  enormous 
sum,  and  rejoiced  in  advance  over  the  delight  of  giving  it  to 
Joseph,  whose  opinion  of  Philippe  remained  unchanged, 
as  did  that  of  Desroches. 

So,  without  Joseph's  knowledge,  she  wrote  to  Philippe  the 
following  letter : — 

"To  Monsieur  le  Comte  de  Brambourg. 

"My  dear  Philippe, — For  five  years  you  have  never  given 
your  mother  the  smallest  thought.  That  is  not  kind.  You 
ought  to  remember  the  past,  if  only  for  the  sake  of  your  ex- 
cellent brother.  Joseph  now  is  in  need  of  money,  while  you 
are  swimming  in  opulence;  he  works,  while  you  rush  ivovn 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


28H 


party  to  party.  You  possess  the  whole  of  my  brotherV^  for- 
tune. In  short;,  from  what  little  Borniche  tells  me,  you  have 
two  hundred  thousand  francs  a  year.  Well,  then,  come  and 
see  Joseph.  In  the  course  of  your  visit  leave  in  the  death's- 
head  a  score  of  thousand-franc  notes.  You  owe  us  that  much, 
Philippe;  your  brother  will  nevertheless  feel  himself  much 
obliged  to  you,  to  say  nothing  of  the  pleasure  you  will  give 
your  mother. 

"Agathe  Bridau  nee  Kouget.^' 

Two  days  after  the  maid  brought  up  to  the  studio,  where 
poor  Agathe  had  just  breakfasted  with  J oseph,  the  following 
dreadful  note : — 

"My  dear  Mother, — I  cannot  marry  Mademoiselle 
Amelie  de  Soulanges  with  a  handful  of  walnut  shells,  when 
behind  the  name  of  Comte  de  Brambourg  there  lies  that  of 
your  son 

"Philippe  Bridau." 

As  she  sank  almost  fainting  on  the  studio  sofa,  Agathe 
dropped  the  letter.  The  slight  rustle  of  the  paper  as  it  fell, 
and  Agathe^s  low  but  terrible  cry,  startled  Joseph,  who  was 
painting  away  vehemently  on  a  sketch.  He  looked  round 
the  edge  of  his  canvas  to  see  what  was  happening.  Seeing 
his  mother  lying  there,  the  painter  put  dow^n  his  palette  and 
brushes,  and  flew  to  raise  her,  almost  a  corpse.  He  took 
Agathe  in  his  arms,  carried  her  on  to  the  bed  in  her  room, 
and  sent  the  maid  to  fetch  his  friend  Bianchon.  As  soon  as 
Joseph  could  question  his  mother,  she  confessed  her  letter  to 
Philippe  and  his  reply  to  her.  The  artist  went  to  pick  up 
the  note,  of  which  the  concise  brutality  had  broken  the  frail 
heart  of  the  poor  mother  by  overturning  the  towering  edifice 
raised  by  her  maternal  preference. 

Joseph  came  back  to  his  mother's  bedside,  and  had  the  wit 
to  be  silent.  He  never  mentioned  his  brother  during  the 
three  weeks  while  his  poor  mother  lay,  not  ill  indeed,  but 

VOL.4— 4^ 


284 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


dying.  Indeed,  Bianchon,  who  came  every  day  and  attended 
the  poor  woman  with  the  devotion  of  a  true  friend,  told 
Joseph  the  truth  on  the  first  day. 

"At  her  age/'  said  he,  "and  in  the  position  in  which  your 
mother  will  find  herself,  we  must  only  try  to  make  death  as 
easy  to  her  as  possible." 

Agathe,  indeed,  felt  herself  so  surely  called  to  God,  that 
on  the  very  next  day  she  begged  the  religious  care  of  old 
Abbe  Loraux,  her  spiritual  director  for  two-and-twenty  years^ 
As  soon  as  she  was  alone  with  him,  after  pouring  all  her 
sorrow  into  his  heart,  she  repeated  what  she  had  said  to  her 
godmother,  what  she  was  constantly  saying : 

"How  have  I  angered  God?  Do  I  not  love  Him  with  all 
my  soul  ?  Have  I  not  walked  in  the  way  of  salvation  ?  What 
is  my  sin?  And  if  I  am  so  guilty  of  an  error  I  am  un- 
conscious of,  have  I  time  now  to  repair  it  ?" 

"No,''  said  the  old  man  in  a  mild  voice.  "Alas !  your  life 
seems  blameless,  and  your  soul  unspotted ;  but  God's  eye,  poor 
suffering  woman,  is  more  penetrating  than  that  of  His  min- 
isters. I  myself  see  clearly  now,  but  too  late — for  you  have 
blinded  me  till  now." 

As  she  heard  this  speech,  uttered  by  lips  from  which  hither- 
to no  words  but  those  of  peace  and  honey  had  fallen  for  her, 
Agathe  sat  up  in  bed,  with  wide  eyes  full  of  terror  and 
distress. 

"Speak,  speak  !"  she  cried. 

"Be  comforted,"  said  the  old  priest.  "From  the  manner 
of  your  punishment  you  may  look  for  forgiveness.  God  is 
severe  in  this  world  only  on  His  chosen  few.  Woe  unto  those 
whose  misdeeds  find  favoring  chances;  they  will  be  kneaded 
again  in  human  form  till  they  in  their  turn  are  sternly 
punished  for  mere  mistakes  and  ripen  into  food -for  heaven. 
Your  life,  my  daughter,  has  been  one  long  mistake.  You 
fell  into  the  pit  you  dug  for  yourself,  for  we  always  fail  on  the 
side  we  ourselves  have  weakened.  You  gave  all  your  heart 
to  a  wretch  in  whom  you  saw  your  glory,  and  you  have  mis- 
prized the  child  who  is  your  true  glory.  Your  injustice  has 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


285 


been  so  deep  that  you  have  not  observed  this  striking  contrast; 
your  means  of  living  even  liave  come  to  you  from  Joseph,  while 
your  other  son  has  constantly  plundered  you.  Your  poorer 
son,  who  loves  you  without  the  rev/ard  of  equal  tenderness, 
gives  you  your  daily  bread ;  while  the  rich  man,  who  has  never 
cared  for  you,  and  who  scorns  you,  longs  for  your  death/' 

"Oh !  for  that  matter  "  she  put  in. 

"Yes,''  the  priest  went  on,  "your  humble  condition  in- 
terferes with  the  schemes  of  his  pride. — As  a  mother,  this  is 
your  crime !  As  a  woman,  your  sufferings  and  sorrows 
promise  you  the  joy  and  peace  and  the  Lord.  Your  son 
Joseph  is  so  noble,  that  his  affection  has  never  been  dimin- 
ished by  the  injustice  of  your  favoritism;  love  him  as  he 
deserves.  Give  him  your  whole  heart  during  these  last  days. 
And  pray  for  him — I  will  go  and  pray  for  you." 

The  mother's  eyes,  unsealed  by  so  firm  a  hand,  looked  back 
with  a  retrospective  glance  on  the  whole  of  her  past  life.  En- 
lightened by  this  sudden  flash,  she  perceived  the  involuntary 
wrong  she  had  done,  and  melted  into  tears.  The  old  priest 
was  so  much  moved  by  the  spectacle  of  an  erring  and  repent- 
ant creature,  sinning  solely  by  ignorance,  that  he  left  the  room 
not  to  betray  his  compassion. 

About  two  hours  after  the  confessor's  departure,  Joseph 
came  into  his  mother's  room.  He  had  beeil  to  a  friend  to 
borrow  the  necessary  money  to  pay  his  most  pressing  debts, 
and  he  crept  in  on  tiptoe,  believing  that  his  mother  was  asleep. 
He  then  sat  down  in  an  armchair,  without  being  seen  by  the 
sick  woman. 

A  sob,  broken  by  the  words,  "Will  he  ever  forgive  me?" 
made  Joseph  start  up  wdth  the  cold  perspiration  down  his 
back,  for  he  thought  his  mother  was  in  the  delirium  that  pre- 
cedes death. 

"What  is  the  matter,  mother?"  he  cried,  terrified  to  see 
her  eyes  red  with  weeping  and  her  woe-stricken  face. 

"Oh,  Joseph !  can  you  forgive  me,  my  child  ?"  cried  she. 
"What  do  you  mean  ?"  asked  the  artist, 
"I  have  not  loved  you  as  you  deserved  " 


286 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


"What  a  preposterous  idea!"  cried  he.    "You  have  not 

loved  me  ?    Have  we  not  lived  together  these  seven  years  ? 

Have  you  not  kept  house  for  me  for  seven  years^  Do  I  not 
see  you  every  day  ?  Do  I  not  hear  your  voice  ?  Are  you  not 
the  gentle  and  indulgent  sharer  of  my  poverty  ? — You  do  not 
understand  painting!  Well,  but  that  is  not  to  be  taught. 
x4nd  only  yesterday  I  was  saying  to  Grassou,  ^The  thing  that 
comforts  me  in  all  my  struggles  is  that  I  have  such  a  good 
mother ;  she  is  just  what  an  artist's  wife  ought  to  be ;  she  takes 
care  of  everything;  she  looks  after  all  my  creature  comforts 
without  making  any  fuss  '  " 

"No,  Joseph,  no.  You  have  loved  me,  and  I  have  never 
returned  you  tenderness  for  tenderness.  Oh!  how  I  wish  I 
might  live !    .    .    .    Give  me  your  hand.'' 

Agathe  took  her  son's  hand,  kissed  and  held  it  to  her  heart, 
gazing  at  him  for  a  long  time,  her  blue  eyes  radiant  with  the 
affection  she  had  hitherto  always  kept  for  Philippe.  The 
painter,  who  had  studied  expression,  was  so  struck  by  the 
change,  and  saw  so  plainly  that  his  mother's  heart  had  opened 
to  him,  that  he  put  his  arms  round  her  and  hsld  her  clasped 
for  some  seconds,  saying  like  a  crazy  creature,  "Oh,  mother, 
mother !" 

"Ah,  I  feel  I  am  forgiven!"  said  she.  "God  must  surely 
ratify  a  son's  forgiveness  of  his  mother." 

"You  must  keep  calm;  do  not  worry  yourself.  It  is  all 
over  now.  I  feel  that  I  am  enough  loved  at  this  moment 
for  all  the  past,"  cried  Joseph,  laying  his  mother  gently  on  the 
pillows. 

During  a  fortnight,  while  life  and  death  were  contending 
for  the  saintly  creature,  she  had  for  Joseph  such  looks,  sucii 
impulses  of  soul  and  expressions  of  gesture,  as  revealed  love 
so  perfect  that  a  whole  life  seemed  contained  in  each  outburst. 
The  mother  now  thought  only  of  her  son ;  she  counted  herself 
as  nothing,  and,  upheld  by  love,  no  longer  felt  her  sufferings. 
She  made  artless  speeches  like  a  child's.  D'Arthez,  Michel 
Chrestien,  Fulgence  Kidal,  Pierre  Grassou,  and  Bianchon 
came  to  keep  Joseph  company,  and  often  held  discussions  in 
an  undertone  in  the  sick  woman's  room. 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


287 


"Oh!  how  I  wish  I  knew  what  was  meant  by  color!''  she 
exclaimed  one  evening  when  she  heard  them  talking  about  a 
picture. 

Joseph's  conduct  on  his  part  was  sublime  towards  his 
mother ;  he  scarcely  left  her  room ;  he  cherished  Agatlie  in  his 
heart;  he  responded  to  her  tenderness  with  equal  tenderness. 
It  was  to  the  painter's  friends  one  of  those  beautiful  spectacles 
which  can  never  be  forgotten.  These  men,  who  all  were 
examples  of  the  union  of  real  talent  and  noble  character,  were 
for  Joseph  and  his  mother  all  that  they  ought  to  be — angels 
who  prayed  with  him  and  wept  with  him — not  that  they  said 
prayers  or  shed  tears,  but  they  were  one  with  him  in  thought 
and  act.  Joseph,  an  artist  as  noble  in  feeling  as  in  gifts,  read 
in  certain  of  ^is  mother's  looks  a  longing  hidden  deep  in  her 
heart ;  and  he  said  one  day  to  d'Arthez,  "She  was  too  fond  of 
that  robber  Philippe  not  to  want  to  see  him  again  before  she 
dies    .    .  ." 

Joseph  requested  Bixiou,  who  was  a  figure  in  the  Bohemian 
world  which  Philippe  would  occasionally  frequent,  to  make 
that  infamous  parvenu  promise  to  assume,  out  of  pity,  some 
show  of  affection,  so  as  to  wrap  the  poor  mother's  heart  in  a 
shroud  graced  by  illusion.  Bixiou,  as  a  student  of  human 
nature,  a  misanthropic  scoffer,  was  ready  and  willing  to  un- 
dertake such  a  mission.  When  he  had  explained  Agathe's 
situation  to  the  Comte  de  Brambourg,  who  received  him  in  a 
bedroom  hung  with  yellow  silk  damask,  the  Colonel  burst  out 
laughing. 

"What  the  devil  do  you  want  me  to  do  there?"  cried  he. 
"The  only  service  the  good  woman  can  do  me  is  to  kick  the 
bucket  as  soon  as  possible,  for  she  would  cut  a  bad  figure  at 
my  wedding  with  Mademoiselle  de  Soulanges.  The  less  family 
I  have  to  show,  the  better  for  me !  As  you  may  well  suppose, 
I  only  wish  I  could  bury  the  name  of  Bridau  under  all  the 
tombstones  in  Pere-Lachaise. 

"My  brother  ruins  me  by  proclaiming  my  real  name  to  the 
world.  But  you,  at  any  rate,  are  too  clever  not  to  understand 
my  position.    Come,  now — if  you  were  to  be  elected  depuly, 


288 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


you  have  a  ready  tongue  of  your  own ;  you  would  be  as  much 
feared  as  Chauvelin,  and  you  might  be  made  Comte  Bixiou, 
Director  of  the  Beaux  Arts.  If  you  had  achieved  that,  and  if 
your  grandmother  Descoings  were  still  alive,  how  would  you 
like  to  have  that  good  woman  at  your  elbow — a  woman  like 
Madame  Saint-Leon?  Would  you  offer  her  your  arm  in  the 
Tuileries  ?  Would  you  introduce  her  to  the  noble  family  you 
might  seek  to  enter  ?  By  Heaven  !  I  tell  you,  you  would  wish 
her  six  feet  under  ground,  packed  in  a  wrapper  of  lead. — 
Come,  breakfast  with  me,  and  we  will  talk  of  something  else. 
I  am  a  parvenu,  my  dear  fellow,  and  I  know  it.  I  do  not 
mean  to  display  my  baby-clothes ! — My  son,  now,  will  be 
luckier  than  I ;  he  will  be  a  fine  gentleman.  The  rascal  will 
wish  me  dead,  and  I  quite  expect  it,  or  he  will  be  no  son  of 
mine." 

He  rang  the  bell ;  a  footman  came  in,  to  whom  he  said : 
"My  friend  will  breakfast  with  me.    Send  up  something 
elegant." 

"But  the  fashionable  world  would  not  see  you  in  your 
mother's  room,"  retorted  Bixiou.  "What  would  it  cost  you  to 
pretend  to  love  the  poor  woman  for  a  few  hours  ?" 

"All  my  eye !"  said  Philippe,  with  a  wink.  "They  have  sent 
you.  I  am  an  old  bird,  and  not  to  be  caught  with  chaff.  My 
mother  wants  to  conjure  me  with  her  last  breath  to  fork  out 
something  for  Joseph !   Thank  you  for  nothing." 

When  Bixiou  repeated  this  scene  to  Joseph,  the  poor  painter 
felt  chilled  to  the  very  soul. 

"Does  Philippe  know  that  I  am  ill?"  said  Agathe  in  a 
lamentable  voice  the  evening  of  the  very  day  when  Bixiou  had 
given  an  account  of  his  errand. 

Joseph  left  the  room  choked  with  tears.  The  Abbe  Loraux, 
who  was  at  the  patient's  side,  took  her  hand  and  pressed  it  as 
he  replied,  "Alas !  my  child,  you  have  never  had  but  one  son," 

On  hearing  these  words,  which  she  understood,  Agathe  had 
an  attack  that  was  the  beginning  of  the  end.  She  died  twenty 
hours  after.  In  the  wanderings  of  her  mind  before  death  the 
words  escaped  her,  "Who  does  Philippe  take  after  ?" 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


28ft 


Joseph  alone  followed  his  mother  to  the  grave.  Philippe 
had  gone  to  Orleans  on  regimental  business,  scared  from  Paris 
by  the  following  letter,  addressed  to  him  by  Joseph  as  their 
mother  breathed  her  last : 

"Wretch, — My  poor  mother  is  dead  of  the  shock  your  letter 
caused.  Put  on  mourning.  But  pretend  to  be  ill ;  I  will  not 
have  her  murderer  to  stand  at  my  side  by  her  coffin. 

"Joseph  B.'' 

The  painter,  who  had  lost  all  heart  for  his  painting,  though 
his  deep  grief  perhaps  needed  the  sort  of  mechanical  diversion 
that  work  brings  with  it,  was  surrounded  by  friends,  who 
agreed  among  themselves  not  to  leave  him  to  solitude.  Thus 
Bixiou,  who  loved  J oseph  as  truly  as  a  scoffer  can  love  any  one, 
was  one  of  a  group  of  friends  in  Joseph's  studio  one  day,  a 
fortnight  after  the  funeral.  At  this  moment  the  maid  bustled 
in,  and  handed  to  Joseph  a  letter,  brought,  as  she  said,  by  an 
■jld  woman  who  would  wait  for  the  answer  in  the  porter's 
lodge : 

"Monsieur, — Whom  I  do  not  venture  to  call  my  brother, 
1  must  apply  to  you,  were  it  only  by  reason  of  the  name  I 
bear  " 

J  oseph  turned  the  page,  and  looked  at  the  signature  at  the 
end.  These  words,  "Comtesse  Flore  de  Brambourg,"  made 
his  blood  run  chill,  for  he  foresaw  some  fresh  abomination 
of  his  brother's  doing. 

"That  wretch,"  said  he,  "would  outdevil  the  Devil !  And 
that  is  a  man  of  honor — that  can  hang  a  peck  of  tinsel  on  its 
breast — that  spreads  its  tail  at  Court  instead  of  being 
flogged  at  the  cart's  tail! — And  this  precious  scoundrel  is 
Monsieur  le  Comte !" 

"There  are  many  like  him,"  said  Bixiou. 

"And  besides  that,  this  Eabouilleuse  deserves  nothing  from 
me,"  J  oseph  went  on.    "She  is  not  worth  a  curse ;  she  would 


290  A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


have  left  me  to  have  my  head  chopped  off  like  a  fowl  without 
ever  saying  ^He  is  innocent/ 

As  Joseph  tossed  away  the  letter,  Bixiou  nimbly  caught  it, 
and  read  it  aloud : — 

— Is  it  becoming  that  Madame  la  Comtesse  de  Brambourg, 
whatever  her  faults  may  be,  should  be  sent  to  die  in  a  hospital  ? 
If  that  is  to  be  my  fate,  if  that  is  the  Count's  wish  and  yours, 
so  be  it;  but  then,  as  you  are  a  friend  of  Doctor  Bianchon's^ 
get  his  introduction  to  get  me  into  a  hospital.  The  woman 
who  takes  you  this  letter,  monsieur,  has  been  eleven  days 
running  to  the  Hotel  de  Brambourg  in  the  Rue  de  Clichy 
without  being  able  to  obtain  any  help  from  my  husband.  The 
state  in  which  I  am  prevents  my  employing  an  attorney  so  as 
to  obtain  by  law  what  is  due  to  me  and  to  die  in  peace.  Indeed, 
nothing  can  save  me;  I  know  it.  So  if  you  will  positively 
have  nothing  to  say  to  your  unhappy  sister-in-law,  give  me 
money  enough  to  enable  me  to  put  an  end  to  my  days;  for 
your  brother,  I  see,  wishes  my  death,  and  always  has  wished 
it.  Though  he  told  me  he  knew  three  certain  ways  of  killing 
a  woman,  I  had  not  the  wit  to  foresee  the  means  he  has  taken. 

"If  so  be  you  should  honor  me  with  a  little  assistance,  and 
judge  for  yourself  of  the  misery  I  am  in,  I  am  living  in  the 
Rue  du  Houssay,  at  the  corner  of  the  Rue  Chantereine,  on  the 
fifth  floor.  If  I  do  not  pay  my  arrears  of  rent  to-morrow, 
I  must  turn  out.  And  where  am  I  to  go,  monsieur?  May 
I  sign  myself, 

"Your  sister-in-law, 

"Comtesse  Flore  de  Brambourg/' 

'^hat  a  foul  pit  of  infamy!"  said  Joseph.    *^hat  is 

there  behind  it?" 

"Have  the  woman  up  first;  that  will  be  a  worthy  preface 
to  the  story  no  doubt,"  said  Bixiou. 

A  minute  after  there  appeared  on  the  scene  a  woman  whom 
Bixiou  described  as  walking  rags.  She  was,  in  fact,  a 
mass  of  clothes  and  old  gowns,  one  over  another,  bordered 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


261 


with  mud  from  the  weather,  the  whole  mounted  on  thick  legs 
and  splay  feet,  with  patched  stockings  and  shoes,  from  which 
the  water  oozed  through  many  cracks.  To  crown  this  mass 
of  rubbish  was  such  a  head  as  Charlet  has  given  to  his 
sweepers,  helmeted  with  a  hideous  bandana,  worn  threadbare 
even  in  the  creases. 

*^What  is  your  name  asked  Joseph,  while  Bixiou  sketched 
the  woman  as  she  stood,  leaning  on  an  umbrella  of  the  year 
II.  of  the  Republic. 

"Madame  Gruget,  at  your  service.  I  have  drawed  my 
dividends  in  my  day,  my  little  gentleman,^'  said  she  to  Bixiou, 
whose  covert  smile  offended  her.  "If  my  pore  girl  hadn't 
been  so  unlucky  as  to  be  too  fond  of  a  man,  I  shouldn^t  look 
so  as  you  see  me.  She  made  a  hole  in  the  water,  saving  your 
presence,  my  pore  Ida.  And  then  I  was  fool  enough  to  go  in 
for  lottery  tickets,  four  numbers,  and  sticking  to  them,  and 
that  is  why  at  seventy  years  old,  my  good  monsieur,  I  am 
idck-nurse  at  ten  sous  a  day  and  my  food  " 

"But  not  your  clothes,"  said  Bixiou.  "My  grandmother 
dressed  herself,  besides  keeping  up  a  snug  little  ternion." 

"But  out  of  my  ten  sous  I  have  to  pay  for  a  furnished 
room    .    .  r 

"And  what  has  she  got — this  lady  you  are  nursing  ?" 

"She  has  got  nothing,  monsieur,  by  way  of  money  I  mean ; 
for  she  has  got  some  complaint  that  frightens  the  doctors. — 
She  owes  me  sixty  days'  pay,  and  that  is  why  I  stay  with  her. 
Her  husband,  who  is  a  Count — for  she  is  a  Countess — will 
pay  the  bill,  no  doubt,  when  she  is  dead,  and  counting  on  that, 
I  have  lent  her  all  I  had  .  .  .  But  I  have  nothing  left, 
and  I  have  put  everything  up  the  spout.  She  owes  me  forty- 
seven  francs  and  twelve  sous,  besides  the  thirty  francs  wages, 
and  as  she  wants  to  choke  herself  off  with  charcoal :  ^That  is 
not  right,'  says  I — more  by  token  I  told  the  woman  in  the 
lodge  to  keep  an  eye  on  her  while  I  was  out,  for  she  is  capable 
of  throwing  herself  out  of  window." 

"But  what  is  the  matter  with  her?"  said  Joseph. 

"Well,  sir,  the  doctor  came  from  the  Sisters ;  but  as  to  what 


292 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


IS  the  matter/^  said  Madame  Gruget,  with  a  prudish  air — "he 
said  she  must  go  to  the  hospital — and  she  wouldn't  get  ovei 
it." 

"We  will  go  and  see  about  it,"  said  Bixiou. 

"Here/'  said  Joseph,  "here  are  ten  francs." 

After  putting  his  hand  into  the  famous  death's-head  and 
taking  out  all  his  change,  the  painter  walked  to  the  Rue 
Mazarine,  where  he  took  a  hackney  cab  and  went  off  to  Bian- 
chon,  whom  he  fortunately  found  at  home,  while  Bixiou  set 
out  for  the  Rue  de  Bussy  to  fetch  their  friend  Desroches.  The 
four  friends  met  an  hour  after  in  the  Rue  du  Houssay. 

"That  Mephistopheles  on  horseback  called  Philippe  Bridau," 
said  Bixiou  to  his  three  friends  as  they  climbed  the  stairs, 
"has  steered  his  bark  in  a  cunning  way  to  get  rid  of  his  wife. 
Our  friend  Lousteau,  as  you  know,  only  too  glad  to  get  a  thou- 
sand-franc note  every  month  from  Philippe,  kept  Madame 
Bridau  in  the  company  of  Florine,  Mariette,  Tullia,  and  la 
Yal-Noble.  As  soon  as  Philippe  saw  his  Rabouilleuse  ac- 
customed to  dress  and  expensive  pleasures,  he  gave  her  no 
more  money,  but  left  her  to  make  it — ^you  may  imagine  how 
Thus  by  the  end  of  eighteen  months  Philippe  left  his  wife 
to  sink  a  little  lower,  from  quarter  to  quarter;  and  at  last, 
by  the  help  of  a  splendid  young  subaltern,  he  suggested  to  her 
a  taste  for  dram-drinlving.  As  he  rose  his  wife  sank,  and 
the  Countess  is  now  in  the  kennel.  The  woman  born  in  the 
fields  is  hard  to  kill ;  I  do  not  know  how  Philippe  set  to  work 
to  get  rid  of  her.  I  am  curious  to  study  this  little  drama,  for 
I  owe  the  fellow  a  revenge.  Alas !  my  friends,"  Bixiou  went 
on,  in  a  tone  that  left  his  three  companions  doubtful  whether 
he  spoke  in  joke  or  in  earnest,  "to  get  rid  of  a  man  you  have 
only  to  inoculate  him  with  a  vice. 

"  *^She  loved  balls  too  well  and  that  was  her  death,'  said 
\^ictor  Hugo.  There  you  are.  My  grandmother  loved  lottery 
gambling;  Pere  Rouget  loved  a  petticoat,  and  Lolotte  was 
the  death  of  him !  Madame  Bridau,  poor  creature,  loved 
Philippe,  and  by  Philippe  she  has  perished.  Oh,  Vice !  Vice ! 
— My  friends,  do  you  know  what  vice  is  ?  It  is  the  Bonneau 
of  death." 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


293 


^Then  you  will  die  of  a  jest !"  said  Desroches,  smiling  at 
Bixiou. 

Above  the  fourth  floor  the  young  men  mounted  one  of  those 
upright  stairways  like  ladders  which  lead  up  to  the  attics  of 
many  houses  in  Paris.  Though  Joseph,  who  had  seen  Flore 
so  handsome,  was  prepared  for  a  dreadful  contrast,  he  could 
not  conceive  of  the  hideous  spectacle  that  presented  itself 
to  his  artistic  gaze.  Under  the  sharp  slope  of  a  garret,  witli 
no  paper  on  the  walls,  and  on  a  camp-bed  with  a  meagre 
mattress  stuffed  perhaps  with  flock,  the  three  men  saw  a 
woman  as  green  as  a  body  two  days  drowned,  and  as  emaci- 
ated as  a  consumptive  patient  within  two  hours  of  death. 
This  malodorous  carcass  wore  a  common  checked  handker- 
chief bound  round  a  head  bereft  of  hair.  The  caverns  of  her 
hollow  eyes  were  red,  and  the  lids  like  the  skin  that  lines  an 
egg-shell.  As  to  the  form  that  had  once  been  so  beautiful, 
it  was  a  squalid  skeleton. 

On  seeing  her  visitors,  Flore  drew  across  her  bosom  a  rag 
of  muslin  that  had  probably  been  a  window-blind,  for  it  was 
edged  with  rust  from  the  iron  rod.  The  furniture  consisted 
of  two  chairs,  a  wretched  chest  of  drawers,  on  which  a  tallow 
candle  was  set  in  a  potato,  some  dishes  strewn  on  the  floor, 
and  an  earthen  fire-pot  in  the  corner  of  an  otherwise  empty 
hearth.  Bixiou  saw  the  remains  of  the  half-quire  of  paper 
purchased  at  the  grocer's  for  the  letter  which  the  two  women 
had  no  doubt  concocted  between  them.  The  word  loathsome 
is  but  a  positive  degree  for  which  there  is  no  superlative  to 
express  the  effect  produced  by  this  abject  scene. 

When  the  dying  woman  saw  Joseph,  two  large  tears  fell 
down  her  cheeks. 

"She  can  still  weep,''  said  Bixiou.  "A  strange  sight  indeed 
—tears  flowing  from  a  bag  of  dominoes.  It  explains  Moses' 
miracle." 

"Is  not  she  dried  up !"  cried  J oseph. 

"By  the  fires  of  repentance,"  said  Flore.  "I  can  have  no 
priest,  I  have  nothing,  not  even  a  crucifix  to  see  the  Image  of 
God.    Oh!  monsieur,"  she  went  on,  uplifting  arms  like  two 


294  A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


carved  wooden  sticks,  "I  have  been  very  wicked,  but  God  never 
punished  any  one  as  He  has  punished  me !  Philippe  killed 
Max,  who  had  bidden  me  to  do  horrible  things,  and  now  he  is 
killing  me  too.  God  is  using  him  as  a  scourge  for  me !  Be- 
have yourself  well,  for  we  all  have  our  Philippe." 

"Leave  me  alone  with  her,"  said  Bianchon ;  "I  want  to  find 
out  if  her  complaint  is  curable." 

"If  she  can  be  cured,  Philippe  Bridau  will  be  mad  with 
rage,"  said  Desroches.  "I  will  have  an  affidavit  prepared  as 
to  the  state  his  wife  is  in;  he  has  not  taken  any  steps  against 
her  for  adultery;  she  has  all  her  conjugal  rights;  he  must 
face  the  scandal  of  a  trial.  First  of  all,  we  will  have  Madame 
la  Comtesse  conveyed  to  Doctor  Dubois'  Home  for  the  Sick 
in  the  Eue  du  Faubourg  Saint-Denis;  she  will  there  be 
nursed  in  luxury.  Then  I  shall  call  upon  the  Count  for 
reinstatement  under  her  husband's  roof." 

"Bravo^  Desroches !"  cried  Bixiou.  "What  joy  to  be  able 
to  do  good  that  will  hurt  so  much!" 

Ten  minutes  later  Bianchon  came  down  and  said  to  his 
friends:  "I  am  off  at  once  to  Desplein;  he  can  save  this 
woman  by  an  operation.  Ah !  he  will  see  that  she  is  taken 
good  care  of,  for  the  habit  of  drinking  spirits  has  developed 
in  her  a  splendid  disease  that  we  thought  was  extinct." 

"You  wretch  of  a  doctor,  get  along !  As  if  she  had  but  one 
disease,"  said  Bixiou. 

But  Bianchon  was  already  in  the  courtyard,  so  great  was 
his  haste  to  go  and  tell  the  grand  news  to  Desplein.  Two 
hours  later  Joseph's  unhappy  sister-in-law  was  carried  to  the 
private  hospital  founded  by  Doctor  Dubois,  which  was  sub- 
sequently bought  by  the  city  of  Paris. 

Three  weeks  later  the  Hospital  Gazette  contained  an  ac-^ 
count  of  one  of  the  boldest  attempts  of  modern  surgery  in 
operating  on  a  patient  mentioned  under  the  initials  F.  B. 
The  subject  died,  much  more  of  the  weakness  consequent  on 
prolonged  privations  than  as  a  result  of  the  operation. 

The  Comte  de  Brambourg  at  once  went  in  deep  mourning 
to  call  on  the  Comte  de  Soulanges,  and  inform  him  of  the 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


295 


melancholy  loss  he  had  sustained.  It  was  whispered  in  the 
fashionable  world  that  the  Comte  de  Soulanges  was  allowing 
his  daughter  to  marry  a  parvenu  of  distinguished  merit,  who 
was  to  be  made  Marechal  de  Camp  and  Colonel  of  a  regiment 
of  the  Bodyguard.  De  Marsay  announced  the  news  to  Eas- 
tignac,  who  spoke  of  it  at  a  supper  at  the  Eocher  de  Cancale 
where  he  met  Bixiou. 

''That  shall  never  be !"  said  the  cunning  artist  to  himself. 

If  among  the  friends  Philippe  had  cut  adrift  there  were 
some  who,  like  Giroudeau,  could  not  revenge  themselves,  he 
had  proved  himself  unwary  in  offending  Bixiou,  whose  wit 
secured  him  a  reception  everywhere,  and  who  never  forgave 
a  slight.  Now  at  the  Eocher  de  Cancale,  in  the  presence  of 
highly  respectable  persons  at  supper  there,  Philippe  had  re- 
plied when  Bixiou  asked  him  to  invite  him  to  the  Hotel  de 
Brambourg,  "You  may  come  to  my  house  when  you  are  a 
minister." 

"Must  I  also  become  a  Protestant  to  get  into  your  house  ?" 
teplied  Bixiou  lightly;  but  he  said  to  himself,  "Though  you 
may  be  a  Goliath,  I  have  a  sling,  and  plenty  of  stones  to 
fling." 

Next  day  the  practical  joker  dressed  at  the  house  of  an 
actor,  a  friend  of  his,  and  was  metamorphosed  by  the  omnipo- 
tent art  of  "make-up"  into  a  secularized  priest  in  green  spec- 
tacles ;  then  he  took  a  fly  and  drove  to  the  house  of  the  Comte 
de  Soulanges.  Bixiou,  treated  by  Philippe  as  a  buffoon, 
meant  to  play  a  trick  on  him. 

Being  admitted  by  the  Comte  de  Soulanges  on  his  urgent 
plea  that  he  had  an  important  matter  to  lay  before  the  Count, 
Bixiou  played  the  part  of  a  venerable  personage  charged  with 
an  important  secret.  In  an  assumed  voice  he  related  the 
history  of  the  dead  Countess^  illness,  of  which  Bianchon  had 
given  him  the  particulars,  that  of  Agathe's  death,  that  of  old 
Eouget's  death,  of  which  the  Comte  de  Brambourg  had 
boasted,  and  that  of  old  Madame  Descoings'  end;  the  story 
of  the  "loan"  from  the  cash-box  of  the  newspaper,  and  the 
facts  as  to  Philippe's  general  conduct  in  his  worst  times. 


296 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


"Monsieur  le  Comte,  do  not  give  him  your  daughter  till  you 
have  made  every  inquiry;  question  his  former  friends — ■ 
Bixiou,  Captain  Giroudeau,  and  others." 

Three  months  after  this  the  Comte  de  Brambourg  enter- 
tained a  party  at  supper:  du  Tillet,  Nucingen,  Eastignac, 
Maxime  de  Trailles,  and  de  Marsay.  The  host  was  taking- 
very  easily  the  half-consolatory  speeches  made  to  him  by 
guests  concerning  his  rupture  with  the  house  of  Soulanges. 

"You  can  do  better,"  said  Maxime. 

"What  fortune  would  be  expected  to  qualify  a  man  to  marry 
a  demoiselle  de  Grandlieu  ?"  asked  Philippe  of  de  Marsay. 

"To  qualify  you  ? — They  would  not  let  you  have  the  ugliest 
of  the  six  for  less  than  ten  million  francs/'  replied  de  Marsay 
insolently. 

"Pooh !"  said  Rastignac ;  "but  with  two  hundred  thousand 
francs  a  year  you  may  have  Mademoiselle  de  Langeais,  the 
Marquis'  daughter;  she  is  ugly,  she  is  thirty,  and  has  not  a 
sou  of  her  ov/n.    That  ought  to  satisfy  you." 

"I  shall  have  ten  millions  within  two  years'  time,"  replied 
Philippe  Bridau. 

"It  is  January  16th,  1829,"  cried  du  Tillet,  smiHng.  "I 
have  been  working  for  ten  years,  and  I  have  not  so  much,  not 
I!" 

"We  will  advise  each  other,  and  you  will  see  how  I  manage 
money  matters." 

"Why,  how  much  have  you  altogether  ?"  asked  Nucingen. 

"If  I  sold  my  securities  and  everything,  excepting  my  estate 
and  this  house,  which  I  could  not  and  will  not  risk,  as  they 
are  secured  by  entail,  I  could  certainly  handle  three  millions." 

Nucingen  and  du  Tillet  looked  at  each  other;  then  after 
this  keen  flash,  du  Tillet  said  to  Philippe : 

"My  dear  Count,  we  will  work  in  partnership  if  you  like." 

De  Marsay  caught  the  glance  that  du  Tillet  had  shot  at 
Nucingen,  and  which  said,  "Those  millions  are  ours !" 

In  fact,  these  two  great  financiers  were  at  the  very  centre 
of  political  affairs,  enabling  them  to  gamble  on  the  Bourse 
at  a  given  date  and  with  absolute  certainty,  against  Philippe, 


A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


297 


when  the  chances  would  seem  to  him  to  be  in  his  favor,  while 
in  reality  they  were  in  theirs. 

The  chance  came.  In  July  1830  du  Tillet  and  Nucingen 
had  enabled  the  Comte  de  Brambourg  to  make  fifteen  hundred 
thousand  francs;  he  no  longer  distrusted  them,  and  thought 
their  advice  sound.  Philippe,  who  had  risen  by  the  Restora- 
tion, and  who  was  misled  by  intense  contempt  for  civilians, 
believed  in  the  success  of  the  new  decrees,  and  would  play 
for  a  rise;  while  Nucingen  and  du  Tillet,  who  expected  a 
Ee volution,  played  against  him  for  a  fall.  But  the  two  shrewd 
partners  affected  to  agree  with  Colonel  the  Comte  de  Bram- 
bourg, and  seemed  to  share  his  convictions;  they  held  out 
hopes  of  his  doubling  his  millions,  and  arranged  to  win  them 
from  him.  Philippe  fought  like  a  man  to  whom  victory 
means  four  million  francs.  His  zeal  was  so  conspicuous  that 
he  was  ordered  to  return  to  Saint-Cloud  with  the  Due  de 
Maufrigneuse  to  sit  in  council.  This  mark  of  favor  saved 
Philippe;  for  he  wanted,  on  July  25th,  to  sweep  the  Boule- 
vards with  a  charge  of  cavalry,  and  he  would  no  doubt  have 
fallen  to  a  bullet  from  his  friend  Giroudeau,  who  commanded 
a  body  of  the  adversary. 

Within  a  month  nothing  of  his  immense  fortune  remained 
to  Colonel  Bridau  but  his  mansion,  his  estate,  his  pictures, 
and  furniture.  He  was  fool  enough  too,  as  he  said,  to  be- 
lieve in  the  re-establishment  of  the  elder  branch,  to  which 
he  remained  faithful  till  1834.  Then,  on  seeing  Giroudeau. 
a  Colonel,  Philippe,  prompted  by  very  intelligible  jealousy, 
rejoined  the  service.  In  1835  he,  unfortunately,  was  ap- 
pointed to  the  command  of  a  regiment  in  Algiers,  where  for 
three  years  he  was  left  in  a  post  of  danger,  hoping  to  win  his 
general's  epaulettes ;  but  a  malignant  influence — that  of  Gen- 
eral Giroudeau — left  him  where  he  was.  Philippe,  by  this 
time  grown  hard,  carried  military  severity  to  an  extreme,  and 
was  detested  in  spite  of  his  Murat-like  bravery. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  fatal  year  1839,  while  turning  to 
harry  the  Arabs  in  the  course  of  a  retreat  before  superior 
numbers,  he  rushed  on  the  foe,  sujjported  by  one  company 


298  A  BACHELOR'S  ESTABLISHMENT 


only.  They  fell  upon  a  body  of  Arabs;  the  struggle  was 
bloody,  frightful,  hand  to  hand,  and  very  few  of  the  French 
horse  escaped.  Seeing  that  their  Colonel  was  surrounded, 
those  who  were  at  some  little  distance  did  not  deem  it  wise 
to  perish  in  a  vain  attempt  to  rescue  him.  They  heard  his 
shout,  "Help!  Your  Colonel!— A  Colonel  of  the  Empire!'' 
followed  by  fearful  cries,  but  they  got  back  to  their  regiment. 
Philippe  died  a  horrible  death,  for  they  cut  off  his  head,  when 
he  fell  hacked  almost  to  pieces  by  yataghans. 

Joseph,  who  was  married  about  this  time  by  the  good 
offices  of  the  Comte  de  Serizy  to  the  daughter  of  an  old 
millionaire  farmer,  inherited  the  house  and  the  estate  of 
Brambourg,  which  his  brother  had  been  unable  to  sell,  though 
he  would  gladly  have  deprived  him  of  his  inheritance.  What 
gave  the  painter  most  pleasure  was  the  fine  collection  of 
pictures.  Joseph,  whose  father-in-law  adds  daily  to  his 
hoards,  has  already  an  income  of  sixty  thousand  francs. 
Though  he  paints  splendid  pictures,  and  is  always  doing  ser- 
vices to  his  fellow-artists,  he  'is  not  yet  a  member  of  the  In  ■ 
stitute.  In  consequence  of  a  clause  in  the  parchment  of 
entail,  he  is  now  Comte  de  Brambourg,  which  often  makes 
him  burst  out  laughing  among  his  friends  in  his  studio. 

"Fine  birds  make  fine  feathers,"  his  friend  Leon  de  Lora 
will  then  remark;  for  even  now  that  he  is  famous  as  a  land- 
scape painter,  he  has  not  given  up  his  old  trick  of  perverting 
proverbs,  and  he  told  Joseph  a  prvpos  of  the  modesty  with 
which  he  accepted  the  favors  of  fortune,  "Never  mind.  A 
feast  is  as  good  as  enough." 


Fabis,  November  1842. 


HONORINE 


To  Monsieur  Achille  Deveria. 
An  affectionate  remembrance  from  the  Author. 

If  the  French  have  as  great  an  aversion  for  traveling  as  the 
English  have  a  propensity  for  it,  both  English  and  French 
have  perhaps  sufficient  reasons.  Something  better  than 
England  is  everywhere  to  be  found ;  whereas  it  is  excessively 
difficult  to  find  the  charms  of  France  outside  France.  Other 
countries  can  show  admirable  scenery,  and  they  frequently 
offer  greater  comfort  than  that  of  France,  which  makes  but 
slow  progress  in  that  particular.  They  sometimes  display 
a  bewildering  magnificence,  grandeur,  and  luxury ;  they  lack 
neither  grace  nor  noble  manners;  but  the  life  of  the  brain, 
the  talent  for  conversation,  the  Attic  salt"  so  familiar  ai 
Paris,  the  prompt  apprehension  of  what  one  is  thinking,  but 
does  not  say,  the  spirit  of  the  unspoken,  which  is  half  the 
French  language,  is  nowhere  else  to  be  met  with.  Hence  a 
Frenchman,  whose  raillery,  as  it  is,  finds  so  little  compre- 
hension, would  wither  in  a  foreign  land  like  an  uprooted 
tree.  Emigration  is  counter  to  the  instincts  of  the  French 
nation.  Many  Frenchmen,  of  the  kind  here  in  question,  hav(i 
owned  to  pleasure  at  seeing  the  custom-house  officers  of  theii* 
native  land,  which  may  seem  the  most  daring  hyperbole  ol' 
patriotism. 

This  preamble  is  intended  to  recall  to  such  Frenchmen  as 
have  traveled  the  extreme  pleasure  they  have  felt  on  occasion- 
ally finding  their  native  land,  like  an  oasis,  in  the  drawing- 
room  of  some  diplomate:  a  pleasure  hard  to  be  understood 
by  those  who  have  never  left  the  asphalt  of  the  Boulevard 
des  Italiens,  and  to  whom  the  Quais  of  the  left  bank  of  the 
VOL.  4—46  (299) 


300- 


HONORINB 


Seine  are  not  really  Paris.  To  find  Paris  again!  Do  you 
know  what  that  means,  0  Parisians?  It  is  to  find — not  in- 
deed the  cookery  of  the  Rocher  de  Cancale  as  Borel  elaborates 
it  for  those  who  can  appreciate  it,  for  that  exists  only  in  the 
Rue  Montorgueil — but  a  meal  which  reminds  you  of  it !  It 
is  to  find  the  wines  of  France,  which  out  of  France  are  to  be 
regarded  as  myths,  and  as  rare  as  the  woman  of  whom  I  write ! 
It  is  to  find — not  the  most  fashionable  pleasantry,  for  it  loses 
its  aroma  between  Paris  and  the  frontier — but  the  witty, 
understanding,  the  critical  atmosphere  in  which  the  French 
live,  from  the  poet  down  to  the  artisan,  from  the  duchess  to 
the  boy  in  the  street. 

In  1836,  when  the  Sardinian  Court  was  residing  at  Genoa, 
two  Parisians,  more  or  less  famous,  could  fancy  themselves 
still  in  Paris  when  they  found  themselves  in  a  palazzo,  taken 
by  the  French  Consul-General,  on  the  hill  forming  the  last 
fold  of  the  Apennines  between  the  gate  of  San  Tomaso  and 
the  well-known  lighthouse,  which  is  to  be  seen  in  all  the  keep- 
oake  views  of  Genoa.  This  palazzo  is  one  of  the  magnificent 
•villas  on  which  Genoese  nobles  were  wont  to  spend  millions 
ixt  the  time  when  the  aristocratic  republic  was  a  power. 

If  the  early  night  is  beautiful  anywhere,  it  surely  is  at 
Genoa,  after  it  has  rained  as  it  can  rain  there,  in  torrents, 
all  the  morning;  when  the  clearness  of  the  sea  vies  with  that 
of  the  sky ;  when  silence  reigns  on  the  quay  and  in  the  groves 
of  the  villa,  and  over  the  marble  heads  with  yawning  jaws, 
from  which  water  mysteriously  flows;  when  the  stars  are 
beaming ;  when  the  waves  of  the  Mediterranean  lap  one  after 
another  like  the  avowal  of  a  woman,  from  whom  you  drag  it 
word  by  word.  It  must  be  confessed,  that  the  moment  when 
the  perfumed  air  brings  fragrance  to  the  lungs  and  to  our 
day-dreams;  when  voluptuousness,  made  visible  and  ambient 
as  the  air,  holds  you  in  your  easy-chair ;  when,  a  spoon  in  your 
hand,  you  sip  an  ice  or  a  sorbet,  the  town  at  your  feet  and  fair 
women  opposite — such  Boccaccio  hours  can  be  known  only  in 
Italy  and  on  the  shores  of  the  Mediterranean. 

Imagine  to  yourself,  round  the  table,  the  Marquis  d.i  Negro, 


HONORINE 


301 


a  knight  hospitaller  to  all  men  of  talent  on  their  travels,  and 
the  Marquis  Damaso  Pareto,  two  Frenchmen  disguised  as 
Genoese,  a  Consul-General  with  a  wife  as  beautiful  as  a 
Madonna,  and  two  silent  cliildren — silent  because  sleep  has 
fallen  on  them — the  French  Ambassador  and  his  wife,  a  sec- 
retary to  the  Embassy  who  believes  himself  to  be  crushed  and 
mischievous;  finally,  two  Parisians,  who  have  come  to  take 
leave  of  the  ConsuFs  wife  at  a  splendid  dinner,  and  you  will 
have  the  picture  presented  by  the  terrace  of  the  villa  about 
the  middle  of  May — a  picture  in  which  the  predominant  figure 
was  that  of  a  celebrated  woman,  on  whom  all  eyes  centered 
now  and  again,  the  heroine  of  this  improvised  festival. 

One  of  the  two  Frenchmen  was  the  famous  landscape 
painter,  Leon  de  Lora;  the  other  a  well  known  critic, 
Claude  Vignon.  They  had  both  comxC  with  this  lady,  one  of 
the  glories  of  the  fair  sex.  Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  known 
in  the  literary  world  by  the  name  of  Camille  Maupin. 

Mademoiselle  des  Touches  had  been  to  Florence  on  busi- 
ness. With  the  charming  kindness  of  which  she  is  prodigal, 
she  had  brought  with  her  Leon  de  Lora  to  show  him  Italy, 
and  had  gone  on  as  far  as  Rome  that  he  might  see  the  Cam- 
pagna.  She  had  come  by  the  Simplon,  and  was  returning 
by  the  Cornice  road  to  Marseilles.  She  had  stopped  at  Genoa, 
again  on  the  landscape  painter's  account.  The  Consul-Gen- 
eral had,  of  course,  wished  to  do  the  honors  of  Genoa,  before 
the  arrival  of  the  Court,  to  a  woman  whose  wealth,  name,  and 
position  recommend  her  no  less  than  her  talents.  Camille 
Maupin,  who  knew  her  Genoa  down  to  its  smallest  chapels, 
had  left  her  landscape  painter  to  the  care  of  the  diplomate 
and  the  two  Genoese  marquises,  and  was  miserly  of  her  min- 
utes. Though  the  ambassador  was  a  distinguished  man  of 
letters,  the  celebrated  lady  had  refused  to  yield  to  his  advances, 
dreading  what  the  English  call  an  exhibition;  but  she  had 
drawn  in  the  claws  of  her  refusals  when  it  was  proposed  that 
they  should  spend  a  farewell  day  at  the  Consul's  villa.  Leon 
de  Lora  had  told  Camille  that  her  presence  at  the  villa  was 
the  only  return  he  could  make  to  the  Ambassador  and  his 


302 


HONORINE 


wife,  the  two  Genoese  noblemen,  the  Consul  and  his  wife.  So 

Mademoiselle  des  Touches  had  sacrificed  one  of  those  days  of 
perfect  freedom,  which  are  not  always  to  be  had  in  Paris  by 
those  on  whom  the  world  has  its  eye. 

Now,  the  meeting  being  accounted  for,  it  is  easy  to  under- 
stand that  etiquette  had  been  banished,  as  well  as  a  great  many 
women  even  of  the  highest  rank,  who  were  curious  to  know 
whether  Camille  Maupin^s  manly  talent  impaired  her  grace 
as  a  pretty  woman,  and  to  see,  in  a  word,  whether  the  trousers 
showed  below  her  petticoats.  After  dinner  till  nine  o'clock, 
when  a  collation  was  served,  though  the  conversation  had  been 
gay  and  grave  by  turns,  and  constantly  enlivened  by  Leon  de 
Lora's  sallies — for  he  is  considered  the  most  roguish  wit  of 
Paris  to-day — and  by  the  good  taste  which  will  surprise  no 
one  after  the  list  of  guests,  literature  had  scarcely  been  men- 
tioned. However,  the  butterfly  flittings  of  this  French  tilting 
match  were  certain  to  come  to  it,  were  it  only  to  flutter  over 
this  essentially  French  subject.  But  before  coming  to  the 
turn  in  the  conversation  which  led  the  Consul-General  to 
speak,  it  will  not  be  out  of  place  to  give  some  account  of  him 
and  his  family. 

This  diplomate,  a  man  of  four-and-thirty,  who  had  been 
married  about  six  years,  was  the  living  portrait  of  Lord 
Byron.  The  familiarity  of  that  face  makes  a  description  of 
the  ConsuFs  unnecessary.  It  may,  however,  be  noted  that 
there  was  no  affectation  in  his  dreamy  expression.  Lord 
Byron  was  a  poet,  and  the  Consul  was  poetical ;  women  know 
and  recognize  the  difference,  which  explains  without  justify- 
ing some  of  their  attachments.  His  handsome  face,  thrown 
into  relief  by  a  delightful  nature,  had  captivated  a  Genoese 
heiress.  A  Genoese  heiress !  the  expression  might  raise  a 
smile  at  Genoa,  where,  in  consequence  of  the  inability  of 
daughters  to  inherit,  a  woman  is  rarely  rich;  but  Onorina 
Pedrotti,  the  only  child  of  a  banker  without  heirs  male,  was  an 
exception.  Notwithstanding  all  the  flattering  advances 
prompted  by  a  spontaneous  passion,  the  Consul-General  had 
not  seemed  to  wish  to  marry.    Nevertheless,  after  living  in 


HONORINE 


303 


the  town  for  two  years,  and  after  certain  steps  taken  by  the 
Ambassador  during  his  visits  to  the  Genoese  Court,  the  mar- 
riage was  decided  on.  The  young  man  withdrew  his  former 
refusal,  less  on  account  of  the  touching  affection  of  Onorina 
Pedrotti  than  by  reason  of  an  unknown  incident,  one  of  those 
crises  of  private  life  which  are  so  instantly  buried  under  the 
daily  tide  of  interests  that,  at  a  subsequent  date,  the  most 
natural  actions  seem  inexplicable. 

This  involution  of  causes  sometimes  affects  the  most  serious 
events  of  history.  This,  at  any  rate,  was  the  opinion  of  the 
town  of  Genoa,  where,  to  some  women,  the  extreme  reserve, 
the  melancholy  of  the  French  Consul  could  be  explained  only 
by  the  word  passion.  It  may  be  remarked,  in  passing,  that 
women  never  complain  of  being  the  victims  of  a  preference ; 
they  are  very  ready  to  immolate  themselves  for  the  common 
weal.  Onorina  Pedrotti,  who  might  have  hated  the  Consul 
if  she  had  been  altogether  scorned,  loved  her  sposo  no  less, 
and  perhaps  more,  when  she  knew  that  he  had  loved.  Women 
allow  precedence  in  love  affairs.  All  is  well  if  other  women  are 
in  question.  ^ 

A  man  is  not  a  diplomate  with  impunity :  the  sposo  was  as 
secret  as  the  grave — so  secret  that  the  merchants  of  Genoa 
chose  to  regard  the  young  Consults  attitude  as  premeditated, 
and  the  heiress  might  perhaps  have  slipped  through  his 
fingers  if  he  had  not  played  his  part  of  a  love-sick  malade 
imaginaire.  If  it  was  real,  the  women  thought  it  too  de- 
grading to  be  believed. 

Pedrotti^s  daughter  gave  him  her  love  as  a  consolation ;  she 
lulled  these  unknown  griefs  in  a  cradle  of  tenderness  and 
Italian  caresses. 

II  Signor  Pedrotti  had  indeed  no  reason  to  complain  of  the 
choice  to  which  he  was  driven  by  his  beloved  child.  Powerful 
protectors  in  Paris  watched  over  the  young  diplomate's  for- 
tunes. In  accordance  with  a  promise  made  by  the  Ambas- 
sador to  the  Consul-General's  father-in-law,  the  young  man 
was  created  Baron  and  Commander  of  the  Legion  of  Honor. 
Signor  Pedrotti  himself  was  made  a  Count  by  the  King  of 


304 


HONORINE 


Sardinia.  Onorina's  dower  was  a  million  of  francs.  As  to  the 
fortune  of  the  Casa  Pedrotti,  estimated  at  two  millions,  made 
in  the  corn  trade,  the  young  couple  came  into  it  within  six 
months  of  their  marriage,  for  the  first  and  last  Count  Pedrotti 
died  in  January  1831. 

Onorina  Pedrotti  is  one  of  those  beautiful  Genoese  women 
whO;,  when  they  are  beautiful,  are  the  most  magnificent  crea- 
tures in  Italy.  Michael  Angelo  took  his  models  in  Genoa  for 
the  tomb  of  Giuliano.  Hence  the  fulness  and  singular  plac- 
ing of  the  breast  in  the  figures  of  Day  and  Night,  which  so 
many  critics  have  thought  exaggerated,  but  which  is  peculiar 
to  the  women  of  Liguria.  A  Genoese  beauty  is  no  longer 
to  be  found  excepting  under  the  mezzaro,  as  at  Venice  it  is  met 
with  only  under  the  fazzioU.  This  phenomenon  is  observed 
among  all  fallen  nations.  The  noble  type  survives  only 
among  the  populace,  as  after  the  burning  of  a  town  coins  are 
found  hidden  in  the  ashes.  And  Onorina,  an  exception  as 
regards  her  fortune,  is  no  less  an  exceptional  patrician  beauty. 
Eecall  to  mind  the  figure  of  Night  which  Michael  Angelo  has 
placed  at  the  feet  of  the  Pensieroso,  dress  her  in  modern  garb, 
twist  that  long  hair  round  the  magnificent  head,  a  little  dark 
in  complexion,  set  a  spark  of  fire  in  those  dreamy  eyes,  throw 
a  scarf  about  the  massive  bosom,  see  the  long  dress,  white, 
embroidered  with  fiowers,  imagine  the  statue  sitting  upright, 
with  her  arms  folded  like  those  of  Mademoiselle  Georges,  and 
you  will  see  before  you  the  Consul's  wife,  with  a  boy  of  six, 
as  handsome  as  a  mother's  desire,  and  a  little  girl  of  four  on 
her  knees,  as  beautiful  as  the  type  of  childhood  so  laboriously 
sought  out  by  the  sculptor  David  to  grace  a  tomb. 

This  beautiful  family  was  the  object  of  Camille's  secret 
study.  It  struck  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  that  the  Consul 
looked  rather  too  absent-minded  for  a  perfectly  happy  man. 

Although,  throughout  the  day,  the  husband  and  wife  had 
offered  her  the  pleasing  spectacle  of  complete  happiness, 
CamilJe  wondered  v/hy  one  of  the  most  superior  men  she  had 
ever  met,  and  whom  she  had  seen  too  in  Paris  drawing-rooms, 
remained  as  Consul-General  at  Genoa  when  he  possessed  a 


HONORINE 


305 


fortune  of  a  hundred  odd  thousi^nd  francs  a  year.  But,  at 
the  same  time,  she  had  discerned,  by  many  of  the  little  noth- 
ings which  women  perceive  with  the  intelligence  of  the  Arab 
sage  in  Zadig,  that  the  husband  was  faithfully  devoted. 
These  two  handsome  creatures  would  no  doubt  love  each 
other  without  a  misunderstanding  till  the  end  of  their  days. 
So  Camille  said  to  herself  alternately,  "What  is  wrong?— 
Nothing  is  wrong,"  following  the  misleading  symptoms  of  the 
Consul's  demeanor;  and  he,  it  may  be  said,  had  the  absolute 
calmness  of  Englishmen,  of  savages,  of  Orientals,  and  of  con- 
summate diplomatists. 

In  discussing  literature,  they  spoke  of  the  perennial  stock- 
in-trade  of  the  republic  of  letters — vv'oman's  sin.  And  they 
presently  found  themselves  confronted  by  two  opinions: 
When  a  woman  sins,  is  the  man  or  the  woman  to  blame? 
The  three  women  present — the  Ambassadress,  the  Consul's 
wife,  and  Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  women,  of  course,  of 
blameless  reputations — were  without  pity  for  the  woman. 
The  men  tried  to  convince  these  three  fair  flowers  of  their 
sex  that  some  virtues  might  remain  in  a  woman  after  she  had 
fallen. 

"How  long  are  we  going  to  play  at  hide-and-seek  in  tliis 
way  ?'^  said  Leon  de  Lora. 

''Cava  vita,  go  and  put  your  children  to  bed,  and  send  me 
by  Gina  the  little  black  pocket-book  that  lies  on  my  Boule 
cabinet,"  said  the  Consul  to  his  wife. 

She  rose  without  a  reply,  which  shows  that  she  loved  her 
husband  very  truly,  for  she  already  knew  French  enough  to 
understand  that  her  husband  was  getting  rid  of  her. 

"I  will  tell  you  a  story  in  which  I  played  a  part,  and  after 
that  we  can  discuss  it,  for  it  seems  to  me  childish  to  practise 
with  the  scalpel  on  an  imaginary  body.  Begin  by  dissecting 
a  corpse." 

Every  one  prepared  to  listen,  with  all  the  greater  readiness 
because  they  had  all  talked  enough,  and  this  is  the  moment 
to  be  chosen  for  telling  a  story.  This,  then,  is  the  Consul- 
General's  tale : — 


806 


HONORINE 


"When  I  was  two-and-twenty,  and  had  taken  my  degree  in 
law,  my  old  uncle,  the  Abbe  Loraux,  then  seventy-two  years 
old,  felt  it  necessary  to  provide  me  with  a  protector,  and  to 
start  me  in  some  career.  This  excellent  man,  if  not  indeed 
a  saint,  regarded  each  year  of  his  life  as  a  fresh  gift  from 
God.  I  need  not  tell  yon  that  the  father  confessor  of  a 
Eoyal  Highness  had  no  difficulty  in  finding  a  place  for  a 
young  man  brought  up  by  himself,  his  sister's  only  child.  So 
one  day,  towards  the  end  of  the  year  1834,  this  venerable 
old  man,  who  for  five  years  had  been  Cure  of  the  White  Friars 
at  Paris,  came  up  to  the  room  I  had  in  his  house,  and  said : 

"  ^Get  yourself  dressed,  my  dear  boy ;  I  am  going  to  intro- 
duce you  to  some  one  who  is  willing  to  engage  you  as  secretary. 
If  I  am  not  mistaken,  he  may  fill  my  place  in  the  event  of 
God's  taking  me  to  Himself.  I  shall  have  finished  mass  at 
nine  o'clock ;  you  have  three-quarters  of  an  hour  before  you. 
Be  ready.' 

"  'What,  uncle !  must  I  say  good-bye  to  this  room,  where  for 
four  years  I  have  been  so  happy  ?' 

"  '^I  have  no  fortune  to  leave  you,'  said  he. 

"  'Have  you  not  the  reputation  of  your  name  to  leave  me, 
i\he  memory  of  your  good  works  ?' 

"  'We  need  say  nothing  of  that  inheritance,'  he  replied,  smil- 
ing. 'You  do  not  yet  know  enough  of  the  world  to  be  aware 
that  a  legacy  of  that  kind  is  hardly  likely  to  be  paid,  whereas 
by  taking  you  this  morning  to  M.  le  Comte' — Allow  me,"  said 
the  Consul,  interrupting  himself,  "to  speak  of  my  protector 
by  his  Christian  name  only,  and  to  call  him  Comte  Octave.— 
'By  taking  you  this  morning  to  M.  le  Comte  Octave,  I  hope  ti) 
secure  you  his  patronage,  which,  if  you  are  so  fortunate  as  to 
please  that  virtuous  statesman — as  I  make  no  doubt  you  can — ■ 
will  be  worth,  at  least,  as  much  as  the  fortune  I  might  have 
accumulated  for  you,  if  my  brother-in-law's  ruin  and  my 
sister's  death  had  not  fallen  on  me  like  a  thunder-bolt  from  a 
ulear  sky.' 

"  'Are  you  the  Count's  director  ?' 

^  *If  I  were,  could  I  place  you  with  him  ?    What  priest 


HONORINE 


807 


could  be  capable  of  taking  advantage  of  the  secrets  which  he 
learns  at  the  tribunal  of  repentance  ?  No ;  you  owe  this  po- 
sition to  his  Highness,  the  Keeper  of  the  Seals.  My  dear 
Maurice,  you  will  be  as  much  at  home  there  as  in  your 
father's  house.  The  Count  will  give  you  a  salary  of  two  thou- 
sand four  hundred  francs,  rooms  in  his  house,  and  an  allow- 
ance of  twelve  hundred  francs  in  lieu  of  feeding  you.  He 
will  not  admit  you  to  his  table,  nor  give  you  a  separate  table, 
for  fear  of  leaving  you  to  the  care  of  servants.  I  did  not 
accept  the  offer  when  it  was  made  to  me  till  I  was  perfectly 
certain  that  Comte  Octave's  secretary  was  never  to  be  a  mere 
upper  servant.  You  will  have  an  immense  amount  of  work, 
for  the  Count  is  a  great  worker ;  but  when  you  leave  him,  you 
will  be  qualified  the  fill  the  highest  posts.  I  need  not  warn 
you  to  be  discreet;  that  is  the  first  virtue  of  any  man  who 
hopes  to  hold  public  appointments.' 

"You  may  conceive  of  my  curiosity.  Comte  Octave,  at 
that  time,  held  one  of  the  highest  legal  appointments ;  he  was 
in  the  confidence  of  Madame  the  Dauphiness,  who  had  just 
got  him  made  a  State  Minister;  he  led  such  a  life  as  the 
Comte  de  Serizy,  whom  you  all  know,  I  think ;  but  even  more 
quietly,  for  his  house  was  in  the  Marais,  Eue  Payenne,  and 
he  hardly  ever  entertained.  His  private  life  escaped  publi(3 
comment  by  its  hermit-like  simplicity  and  by  constant  hard 
work. 

"Let  me  describe  my  position  to  you  in  a  few  words.  Having 
found  in  the  solemn  headmaster  of  the  College  Saint-Louis 
a  tutor  to  whom  my  uncle  delegated  his  authority,  at  the  ag*;; 
of  eighteen  I  had  gone  through  all  the  classes;  I  left  school 
as  innocent  as  a  seminarist,  full  of  faith,  on  quitting  Saint 
Sulpice.  My  mother,  on  her  deathbed,  had  made  my  uncle 
promise  that  I  should  not  become  a  priest,  but  I  was  as  pious 
as  though  I  had  to  take  orders.  On  leaving  college,  the 
Abbe  Loraux  took  me  into  his  house  and  made  me  study  law. 
During  the  four  years  of  study  requisite  for  passing  all  the 
examinations,  I  worked  hard,  but  chiefly  at  things  outside 
the  arid  fields  of  jurisprudence.    Weaned  from  literature 


308  HONOlilNE 

as  I  had  been  at  college,  where  I  lived  in  the  headmaster's 
house,  I  had  a  thirst  to  quench.  As  soon  as  I  had  read  a  few 
modern  masterpieces,  the  works  of  all  the  preceding  ages  were 
greedily  swallowed.  I  became  crazy  about  the  theatre,  and 
for  a  long  time  I  went  every  night  to  the  play,  though  my 
uncle  gave  me  only  a  hundred  francs  a  month.  This  parsi- 
mony, to  which  the  good  old  man  was  compelled  by  his  regard 
for  the  poor,  had  the  effect  of  keeping  a  young  man's  desires 
within  reasonable  limits. 

"When  I  went  to  live  with  Comte  Octave  I  was  not  indeed 
an  innocent,  but  I  thought  of  my  rare  escapades  as  crimes. 
My  uncle  was  so  truly  angelic,  and  I  was  so  much  afraid  of 
grieving  him,  that  in  all  those  four  years  I  had  never  spent 
a  night  out.  The  good  man  v/ould  wait  till  I  came  in  to  go  to 
bed.  This  maternal  care  had  more  power  to  keep  me  within 
bounds  than  the  sermons  and  reproaches  with  which  the  life 
of  a  young  man  is  diversified  in  a  puritanical  home.  I  was 
a  stranger  to  the  various  circles  which  make  up  the  world  of 
Paris  society ;  I  only  knew  some  women  of  the  better  sort,  and 
none  of  the  inferior  class  but  those  I  saw  as  I  walked  about, 
or  in  the  boxes  at  the  play,  and  then  only  from  the  depths 
of  the  pit  where  I  sat.  If,  at  that  period,  any  one  had  said 
to  me,  ^You  will  see  Canalis,  or  Camille  Maupin,'  I  should 
have  felt  hot  coals  in  my  head  and  in  my  bowels.  Famous 
people  were  to  me  as  gods,  who  neither  spoke,  nor  walked, 
nor  ate  like  other  mortals. 

"How  many  tales  of  the  Thousand-and-one  Nights  are  com- 
prehended in  the  ripening  of  a  youth  !  Ho^^^lrany  wonderful 
lamps  must  we  have  rubbed  before  we  understand  that  the 
True  Wonderful  Lamp  is  either  luck,  or  work,  or  genius.  In 
some  men  this  dream  of  the  aroused  spirit  is  but  brief ;  mine 
has  lasted  until  now !  In  those  days  I  always  went  to  sleep  as 
Grand  Duke  of  Tuscany, — as  a  millionaire, — as  beloved  by  a 
princess, — or  famous !  So  to  enter  the  service  of  Comte 
Octave,  and  have  a  hundred  louis  a  year,  was  entering  on 
independent  life.  I  had  glimpses  of  some  chance  of  getting 
into  society,  and  seeking  for  what  my  heart  desired  most,  a 


HONORINE 


protectress,  who  would  rescue  me  trom  the  paths  of  danger, 
which  a  young  man  of  two-and-twenty  can  hardly  lielp  tread- 
ing, however  prudent  and  well  brought  up  he  may  be.  1 
began  to  be  afraid  of  myself. 

"The  persistent  study  of  other  people's  rights  into  which 
I  had  plunged  was  not  always  enough  to  repress  painful 
imaginings.  Yes,  sometimes  in  fancy  I  threw  myself  into 
theatrical  life ;  I  thought  I  could  be  a  great  actor;  I  dreamed  of 
endless  triumphs  and  loves,  knowing  nothing  of  the  dis- 
illusion hidden  behind  the  curtain,  as  everywhere  else — for 
every  stage  has  its  reverse  behind  the  scenes.  I  have  gone 
out  sometimes,  my  heart  boiling,  carried  away  by  an  impulse 
to  rush  hunting  through  Paris,  to  attach  myself  to  some 
handsome  woman  I  might  meet,  to  follow  her  to  her  door, 
watch  her,  write  to  her,  throw  myself  on  her  mercy,  and  con- 
quer her  by  sheer  force  of  passion.  My  poor  uncle,  a  heart 
consumed  by  charity,  a  child  of  seventy  years,  as  clear-sighted 
as  God,  as  guileless  as  a  man  of  genius,  no  doubt  read  the 
tumult  of  my  soul;  for  when  he  felt  the  tether  by  which  he 
held  me  strained  too  tightly  and  ready  to  break,  he  would 
never  fail  to  say,  ^Here,  Maurice,  you  too  are  poor!  Here 
are  twenty  francs;  go  and  amuse  yourself,  you  are  not  a 
priest  V  And  if  you  could  then  have  seen  the  dancing  light 
that  gilded  his  gray  eyes,  the  smile  that  relaxed  his  tine 
lips,  puckering  the  corners  of  his  mouth,  the  adorable  expres- 
sion of  that  august  face,  whose  native  ugliness  was  redeemed 
by  the  spirit  of  an  apostle,  you  would  understand  the  feeling 
which  made  me  answer  the  Cure  of  White  Friars  only  with  a 
kiss,  as  if  he  had  been  my  mother. 

"  ^In  Comte  Octave  you  will  find  not  a  master,  but  a  friend,' 
said  my  uncle  on  the  way  to  the  Rue  Payenne.  ^But  he  is 
distrustful,  or  to  be  more  exact,  he  is  cautious.  The  states- 
man's friendship  can  be  won  only  with  time ;  for  in  spite  of 
his  deep  insight  and  his  habit  of  gauging  men,  he  was  deceived 
by  the  man  you  are  succeeding,  and  nearly  became  a  victim  to 
his  abuse  of  confidence.  This  is  enough  to  guide  you  in  your 
behavior  to  him.' 


310 


HONORINE 


"When  we  knocked  at  the  enormous  outer  door  of  a 
house  as  large  as  the  Hotel  Carnavalet,  with  a  courtyard 
in  front  and  a  garden  behind,  the  sound  rang  as  in  a 
desert.  While  my  uncle  inquired  of  an  old  porter  in 
livery  if  the  Count  were  at  home,  I  cast  my  eyes,  seeing 
everything  at  once,  over  the  courtyard  where  the  cobble- 
stones were  hidden  in  grass,  the  blackened  walls  where 
little  gardens  were  flourishing  above  the  decorations  of 
the  elegant  architecture,  and  on  the  roof,  as  high  as  that  of  the 
Tuileries.  The  balustrade  of  the  upper  balconies  was  eaten 
away.  Through  a  magnificent  colonnade  I  could  see  a  second 
court  on  one  side,  where  were  the  offices ;  the  door  was  rotting. 
An  old  coachman  was  there  cleaning  an  old  carriage.  The 
indiiferent  air  of  this  servant  allowed  me  to  assume  that 
the  handsome  stables,  where  of  old  so  many  horses  had  whin- 
nied, now  sheltered  two  at  most.  The  handsome  fagade  of  the 
house  seemed  to  me  gloomy,  like  that  of  a  mansion  belonging 
to  the  State  or  the  Crown,  and  given  up  to  some  public  office. 
A  bell  rang  as  we  walked  across,  my  uncle  and  I,  from  the 
porter^s  lodge — Inquire  of  the  Porter  was  still  written  over 
the  door — towards  the  outside  steps,  where  a  footman  came  out 
in  a  livery  like  that  of  Lahranche  at  the  Theatre  Frangais  in 
the  old  stock  plays.  A  visitor  was  so  rare  that  the  servant  was 
putting  his  coat  on  when  he  opened  a  glass  door  with  small 
panes,  on  each  side  of  which  the  smoke  of  a  lamp  had  traced 
patterns  on  the  walls. 

"A  hall  so  magnificent  as  to  be  worthy  of  Versailles  ended 
in  a  staircase  such  as  will  never  again  be  built  in  France, 
taking  up  as  much  space  as  the  whole  of  a  modern  house.  As 
we  went  up  the  marble  steps,  as  cold  as  tombstones,  and  wide 
enough  for  eight  persons  to  walk  abreast,  our  tread  echoed 
under  sonorous  vaulting.  The  banister  charmed  the  eye  by 
its  miraculous  workmanship — goldsmith's  work  in  iron — 
wrought  by  the  fancy  of  an  artist  of  the  time  of  Henri  III. 
Chilled  as  by  an  icy  mantle  that  fell  on  our  shoulders,  we  went 
throu  I  ante-rooms,  drawing-rooms  opening  one  out  of  the 
otb       ith  carpetless  parquet  floors,  and  furnished  with  such 


HONORINE 


811 


splendid  antiquities  as  from  thence  would  find  their  way  to  the 
curiosity  dealers.  At  last  we  reached  a  large  study  in  a  cross 
wing,  with  all  the  windows  looking  into  an  immense  garden. 

"  ^Monsieur  le  Cure  of  the  White  Friars,  and  his  nephew, 
Monsieur  de  FHostal,'  said  Lahranche,  to  whose  care  the 
other  theatrical  servant  had  consigned  us  in  the  first  ante- 
chamber. 

"Comte  Octave,  dressed  in  long  trousers  and  a  gray  flannel 
morning  coat,  rose  from  his  seat  by  a  huge  writing-table,  came 
to  the  fireplace,  and  signed  to  me  to  sit  down,  while  he  went 
forward  to  take  my  uncle's  hands,  which  he  pressed. 

"  ^Though  I  am  in  the  parish  of  Saint-Paul,'  said  he, 
could  scarcely  have  failed  to  hear  of  the  Cure  of  the  White 
Friars,  and  I  am  happy  to  make  his  acquaintance.' 

"  'Your  Excellency  is  most  kind,'  replied  my  uncle.  'I 
have  brought  to  you  my  only  remaining  relation.  While  I 
believe  that  I  am  offering  a  good  gift  to  your  Excellency,  I 
hope  at  the  same  time  to  give  my  nephew  a  second  father.' 

"  'As  to  that,  I  can  only  reply,  Monsieur  I'Abbe,  when  we 
shall  have  tried  each  other/  said  Comte  Octave.  'Your  name  ?' 
he  added  to  me. 

"  'Maurice.' 

"  'He  has  taken  his  doctor's  degree  in  law,'  my  uncle  ob- 
served. 

"'Very  good,  very  good!'  said  the  Count,  looking  at  me 
from  head  to  foot.  'Monsieur  I'Abbe,  I  hope  that  for  your 
nephew's  sake  in  the  first  instance,  and  then  for  mine,  you 
will  do  me  the  honor  of  dining  here  every  Monday.  That 
will  be  our  family  dinner,  our  family  party.' 

"My  uncle  and  the  Count  then  began  to  talk  of  religion 
from  the  political  point  of  view,  of  charitable  institutes,  the 
repression  of  crime,  and  I  could  at  my  leisure  study  the  man 
on  whom  my  fate  would  henceforth  depend.  The  Count  was 
of  middle  height;  it  was  impossible  to  judge  of  his  build  on 
account  of  his  dress,  but  he  seemed  to  me  to  be  lean  and  spare. 
His  face  was  harsh  and  hollow;  the  features  were  refined. 
His  mouth,  which  was  rather  large,  expressed  both  irony  and 


312 


HONORINE 


kindliness.  His  forehead,  perhaps  too  spacious,  was  as  in^ 
timidating  as  that  of  a  madman,  all  the  more  so  from  the 
contrast  of  the  lower  part  of  the  face,  which  ended  squarely 
in  a  short  chin  very  near  the  lower  lip.  Small  eyes,  of  tur- 
quoise blue,  were  as  keen  and  bright  as  those  of  the  Prince 
de  Talleyrand — which  I  admired  at  a  later  time — and  en- 
dowed, like  the  Prince's,  with  the  faculty  of  becoming  ex- 
pressionless to  the  verge  of  gloom;  and  they  added  to  the 
singularity  of  a  face  that  was  not  pale  but  yellow.  This  com- 
plexion seemed  to  bespeak  an  irritable  temper  and  violent 
passions.  His  hair,  already  silvered,  and  carefully  dressed, 
seemed  to  furrow  his  head  with  streaks  of  black  and  white 
alternately.  The  trimness  of  this  head  spoiled  the  resemblance 
I  had  remarked  in  the  Count  to  the  wonderful  monk  described 
by  Lewis  after  Schedoni  in  the  Confessional  of  the  Black  Peni- 
tents {The  Italian),  a  superior  creation,  as  it  seems  to  me, 
to  The  Monk. 

"The  Count  was  already  shaved,  having  to  attend  early  at 
the  law  courts.  Two  candelabra  with  four  lights,  screened 
by  lamp-shades,  were  still  burning  at  the  opposite  ends  of  the 
writing-table,  and  showed  plainly  that  the  magistrate  rose 
long  before  daylight.  His  hands,  which  I  saw  when  he  took 
hold  of  the  bell-pull  to  summon  his  servant,  were  extremely 
fine,  and  as  white  as  a  woman's. 

"As  I  tell  you  this  story,"  said  the  Consul-General,  in- 
terrupting himself,  "I  am  altering  the  titles  and  the  social 
position  of  this  gentleman,  while  placing  him  in  circumstances 
analogous  to  what  his  really  were.  His  profession,  rank, 
luxury,  fortune,  and  style  of  living  were  the  same;  all  these 
details  are  true,  but  I  will  not  be  false  to  my  benefactor,  nor 
to  my  usual  habits  of  discretion. 

"Instead  of  feeling — as  I  really  was,  socially  speaking — an 
insect  in  the  presence  of  an  eagle,"  the  narrator  went  on  after 
a  pause,  "I  felt  I  know  not  what  indefinable  impression  from 
the  Count  s  appearance,  which,  however,  I  can  now  account 
for.  Artists  of  genius"  (and  he  bowed  gracefully  to  the  Am- 
bassador, the  distinguished  lady,  and  the  two  Frenchmen), 


HONORINE 


313 


"real  statesmen,  poets,  a  general  who  has  commanded  armies 
— in  short,  all  really  great  minds  are  simple,  and  their  sim- 
plicity places  you  on  a  level  with  themselves. — You  who  are 
all  of  superior  minds,"  he  said,  addressing  his  guests,  "have 
perhaps  observed  how  feeling  can  bridge  over  the  distances 
created  by  society.  If  we  are  inferior  to  you  in  intellect, 
we  can  be  your  equals  in  devoted  friendship.  By  the  tempera- 
ture— allov/  me  the  w^ord — of  our  hearts  I  felt  myself  as  near 
my  patron  as  I  was  far  below  him  in  rank.  In  short,  the  soul 
has  its  clairvoyance;  it  has  presentiments  of  suffering,  grief, 
joy,  antagonism,  or  hatred  in  others. 

"I  vaguely  discerned  the  symptoms  of  a  mystery,  from 
recognizing  in  the  Count  the  same  effects  of  physiognomy 
as  I  had  observed  in  my  tincle.  The  exercise  of  virtue, 
serenity  of  conscience,  and  purity  of  mind  had  transfigured 
my  uncle,  who  from  being  ugly  had  become  quite  beautiful. 
I  detected  a  metamorphosis  of  a  reverse  kind  in  the  Count's 
face ;  at  the  first  glance  I  thought  he  was  about  fifty-five,  but 
after  an  attentive  examination  I  found  youth  entombed  under 
the  ice  of  a  great  sorrow,  under  the  fatigue  of  persistent  study, 
under  the  glowing  hues  of  some  suppressed  passion.  At  a 
word  from  my  uncle  the  Count's  eyes  recovered  for  a  moment 
the  softness  of  the  periv/inkle  flower,  and  he  had  an  admiring 
smile,  which  revealed  what  I  believed  to  be  his  real  age,  about 
forty.  These  observations  I  made,  not  then  but  afterwards, 
as  I  recalled  the  circumstances  of  my  visit. 

"The  man-servant  came  in  carrying  a  tray  with  his  master's 
breakfast  on  it. 

"  ^I  did  not  ask  for  breakfast,'  remarked  the  Count ;  'but 
leave  it,  and  show  monsieur  to  his  rooms.' 

"I  followed  the  servant,  who  led  the  way  to  a  complete  set 
of  pretty  rooms,  under  a  terrace,  between  the  great  courtyard 
and  the  servants'  quarters,  over  a  corridor  of  communication 
between  the  kitchens  and  the  grand  staircase.  When  I  re- 
turned to  the  Count's  study,  I  overheard,  before  opening  the 
door,  my  uncle  pronouncing  this  judgment  on  me : 

"  'He  may  do  wrong,  for  he  has  strong  feelings,  and  we  are 
all  liable  to  honorable  mistakes ;  but  he  has  no  vices/ 


314 


HONORINE 


'Well/  said  the  Count,  with  a  kindly  look,  'do  you  like 
yourself  there?  Tell  me.  There  are  so  many  rooms  in  this 
barrack  that,  if  you  were  not  comfortable,  I  could  put  you 
elsewhere/ 

"  'At  my  nucleus  I  had  but  one  room,^  replied  I. 

"  'Well,  you  can  settle  yourself  this  evening,'  said  the 
Count,  'for  your  possessions,  no  doubt,  are  such  as  all  stu- 
dents own,  and  a  hackney  coach  will  be  enough  to  convey  them. 
To-day  we  will  all  three  dine  together,'  and  he  looked  at  my 
uncle. 

"A  splendid  library  opened  from  the  Count's  study,  and  he 
took  us  in  there,  showing  me  a  pretty  little  recess  decorated 
with  paintings,  which  had  formerly  served,  no  doubt,  as  an 
oratory. 

"  'This  is  your  cell,'  said  he.  'You  will  sit  there  when  you 
have  to  work  with  me,  for  you  will  not  be  tethered  by  a  chain ;' 
and  he  explained  in  detail  the  kind  and  duration  of  my  em- 
ployment with  him.  As  I  listened  I  felt  that  he  was  a  great 
political  teacher. 

"It  took  me  about  a  month  to  familiarize  myself  with 
people  and  things,  to  learn  the  duties  of  my  new  office,  and 
accustom  myself  to  the  Count's  methods.  A  secretary  nec- 
essarily watches  the  man  who  makes  use  of  him.  That  man's 
tastes,  passions,  temper,  and  manias  become  the  subject  of  in- 
voluntary study.  The  union  of  their  two  minds  is  at  once 
more  and  less  than  a  marriage. 

"During  these  months  the  Count  and  I  reciprocally 
studied  each  other.  I  learned  with  astonishment  that  Comte 
Octave  was  but  thirty-seven  years  old.  The  merely  superficial 
peacefulness  of  his  life  and  the  propriety  of  his  conduct  were 
the  outcome  not  solely  of  a  deep  sense  of  duty  and  of  stoical 
reflection ;  in  my  constant  intercourse  with  this  man — an  ex- 
traordinary man  to  those  who  knew  him  well — I  felt  vast 
depths  beneath  his  toil,  beneath  his  acts  of  politeness,  his  mask 
of  benignity,  his  assumption  of  resignation,  which  so  closely 
resembled  calmness  that  is  was  easy  to  mistake  it.  Just  as 
when  walking  through  forest-lands  certain  soils  give  forth. 


HONORINE 


S15 


under  our  feet  a  sound  which  enables  us  to  guess  whether  the} 
are  dense  masses  of  stone  or  a  void ;  so  intense  egoism,  though 
hidden  under  the  flowers  of  politeness,  and  subterranean  cav- 
erns eaten  out  by  sorrow  sound  hollow  under  the  constant  touch 
of  familiar  life.  It  was  sorrow  and  not  despondency  that 
dvv^elt  in  that  really  great  soul.  The  Count  had  understood 
that  actions,  deeds,  are  the  supreme  law  of  social  man. 
And  he  went  on  his  way  in  spite  of  secret  wounds,  looking 
to  the  future  with  a  tranquil  eye,  like  a  martyr  full  of 
faith. 

''His  concealed  sadness,  the  bitter  disenchantment  from 
which  he  suffered,  had  not  led  him  into  philosophical  deserts 
of  incredulity;  this  brave  statesman  was  religious, 
without  ostentation;  he  always  attended  the  earliest  mass 
at  Saint-Paul's  for  pious  workmen  and  servants.  Not  one 
of  his  friends,  no  one  at  Court,  knew  that  he  so  punctually 
fulfilled  the  practice  of  religion.  He  was  addicted  to  God 
as  some  men  are  addicted  to  a  vice,  with  the  greatest  mystery. 
Thus  one  day  I  came  to  find  the  Count  at  the  summit  of  an 
Alp  of  woe  much  higher  than  that  on  which  many  are  who 
think  themselves  the  most  tried;  who  laugh  at  the  passions 
and  the  beliefs  of  others  because  they  have  conquered  their 
own;  who  play  variations  in  every  key  of  irony  and  disdain. 
He  did  not  mock  at  those  who  still  follow  hope  into  the 
swamps  whither  she  leads,  nor  those  who  climb  a  peak  to  be 
alone,  nor  those  who  persist  in  the  fight,  reddening  the  arena 
with  their  blood  and  strewing  it  with  their  illusions.  He 
looked  on  the  world  as  a  whole;  he  mastered  its  beliefs;  he 
listened  to  its  complaining ;  he  was  doubtful  of  affection,  and 
vet  more  of  self-sacrifice;  but  this  great  and  stern  judge 
pitied  them,  or  admired  them,  not  with  transient  enthu. 
siasm,  but  with  silence,  concentration,  and  the  communion  of 
a  deeply-touched  soul.  He  was  a  sort  of  catholic  Manfred, 
and  unstained  by  crime,  carrying  his  choiceness  into  his 
faith,  melting  the  snows  by  the  fires  of  a  sealed  volcano,  hold- 
ing converse  with  a  star  seen  by  himself  alone  ! 

"I  detected  many  dark  riddles  in  his  ordinary  life.  He 

Vol.  4—47 


316 


HONORINE 


evaded  my  gaze  not  like  a  traveler  who,  following  a  path, 
disappears  from  time  to  time  in  dells  or  ravines  according 
to  the  formation  of  the  soil,  but  like  a  sharpshooter  who  is 
being  watched,  who  wants  to  hide  himself,  and  seeks  a  cover. 
I  could  not  account  for  his  frequent  absences  at  the  times 
when  he  was  working  the  hardest,  and  of  which  he  made  no 
secret  from  me,  for  he  would  say,  ^Go  on  with  this  for  me,' 
and  trust  me  with  the  work  in  hand. 

"This  man,  wrapped  in  the  threefold  duties  of  the  states- 
man, the  judge,  and  the  orator,  charmed  me  by  a  taste  for 
flowers,  which  shows  an  elegant  mind,  and  which  is  shared  by 
almost  all  persons  of  refinement.  His  garden  and  his  study 
were  full  of  the  rarest  plants,  but  he  always  bought  them  half- 
withered.  Perhaps  it  pleased  him  to  see  such  an  image  of  his 
own  fate  !  He  v/as  faded  like  these  dying  flowers,  whose  almost 
decaying  fragrance  mounted  strangely  to  his  brain.  The 
Count  loved  his  country;  he  devoted  himself  to  public  in- 
terests with  the  frenzy  of  a  heart  that  seeks  to  cheat  some 
other  passion;  but  the  studies  and  work  into  which  he  threw 
himself  were  not  enough  for  him;  there  were  frightful 
struggles  in  his  mind,  of  which  some  echoes  reached  me. 
Finally,  he  would  give  utterance  to  harrowing  aspirations  for 
happiness,  and  it  seemed  to  me  he  ought  yet  to  be  happy ;  but 
what  was  the  obstacle  ?  Was  there  a  woman  he  loved  ?  This 
was  a  question  I  asked  myself.  You  may  imagine  the  extent 
of  the  circles  of  torment  that  my  mind  had  searched  before 
coming  to  so  simple  and  so  terrible  a  question.  Notwithstand- 
ing his  efforts,  my  patron  did  not  succeed  in  stifling  the  move- 
ments of  his  heart.  Under  his  austere  manner,  under  the 
reserve  of  the  magistrate,  a  passion  rebelled,  though  coerced 
with  such  force  that  no  one  but  I  who  lived  with  him  ever 
guessed  the  secret.  His  motto  seemed  to  be,  suffer,  and  am 
silent.'  The  escort  of  respect  and  admiration  which  attended 
him ;  the  friendship  of  workers  as  valiant  as  himself — Grand- 
ville  and  Serizy,  both  presiding  judges — had  no  hold  over  the 
Count:  either  he  told  them  nothing,  or  they  knew  all.  Im- 
passible and  lofty  in  public^  the  Count  betrayed  the  man  only 


HONORINE 


31? 


on  rare  intervals  when,  alone  in  his  garden  or  his  study,  he 
supposed  himself  unobserved;  but  then  he  was  a  child  again, 
he  gave  course  to  the  tears  hidden  beneath  the  toga,  to  the 
excitement  which,  if  wrongly  interpreted,  might  have  damaged 
his  credit  for  perspicacity  as  a  statesman. 

"When  all  this  had  become  to  me  a  matter  of  certainty, 
Comte  Octave  had  all  the  attractions  of  a  problem,  and  won 
on  my  affection  as  much  as  though  he  had  been  my  own  father. 
Can  you  enter  into  the  feeling  of  curiosity,  tempered  by 
respect?  What  catastrophe  had  blasted  this  learned  man, 
who,  like  Pitt,  had  devoted  himself  from  the  age  of  eighteen 
to  the  studies  indispensable  to  power,  while  he  had  no  am- 
bition; this  judge,  who  thoroughly  knew  the  law  of  nations, 
political  law,  civil  and  criminal  law,  and  who  could 
find  in  these  a  weapon  against  every  anxiety,  against  every 
mistake;  this  profound  legislator,  this  serious  writer,  this 
pious  celibate  whose  life  sufficiently  proved  that  he  was  open 
to  no  reproach  ?  A  criminal  could  not  have  been  more  hardly 
punished  by  God  than  was  my  master ;  sorrow  had  robbed  him 
of  half  his  slumbers;  he  never  slept  more  than  four  hours. 
What  struggle  was  it  that  went  on  in  the  depths  of  these  hours 
apparently  so  calm,  so  studious,  passing  without  a  sound  or 
a  murmur,  during  which  I  often  detected  him,  when  the  pen 
had  dropped  from  his  fingers,  with  his  head  resting  on 
one  hand,  his  eyes  like  two  fixed  stars,  and  sometim.es  wet 
with  tears  ?  How  could  the  waters  of  that  living  spring  flow 
over  the  burning  strand  without  being  dried  up  by  the  subter- 
ranean fire?  Was  there  below  it,  as  there  is  under  the  sea, 
between  it  and  the  central  fires  of  the  globe,  a  bed  of  granite  ? 
And  would  the  volcano  burst  at  last  ? 

"Sometimes  the  Count  would  give  me  a  look  of  that  sa- 
gacious and  keen-eyed  curiosity  by  which  one  man  searches 
another  when  he  desires  an  accomplice;  then  he  shunned 
my  eye  as  he  saw  it  open  a  mouth,  so  to  speak,  insisting  on  a 
reply,  and  seeming  to  say,  ^Speak  first  V  Now  and  then  Comte 
Octave's  melancholy  was  surly  and  gruff..  If  these  spurts  of 
temper  offended  me,  he  could  get  over  it  without  tliinking  of 


318 


HONORINE 


asking  my  pardon ;  but  then  his  manners  were  gracious  to  thti 
point  of  Christian  humility. 

"When  I  became  attached  like  a  son  to  this  man — to  me 
such  a  mystery,  but  so  intelligible  to  the  outer  world,  to  whom 
the  epithet  eccentric  is  enough  to  account  for  all  the  enigmas 
of  the  heart — I  changed  the  state  of  the  house.  Neglect  of 
his  own  interests  was  carried  by  the  Count  to  the  length  of 
folly  in  the  management  of  his  affairs.  Possessing  an  income 
of  about  a  hundred  and  sixty  thousand  francs,  without  in- 
cluding the  emoluments  of  his  appointments — three  of  which 
did  not  come  under  the  law  against  plurality — he  spent  sixty 
thousand,  of  which  at  least  thirty  thousand  went  to  his  ser- 
vants. By  the  end  of  the  first  year  I  had  got  rid  of  all  these 
rascals,  and  begged  His  Excellency  to  use  his  influence  in 
helping  me  to  get  honest  servants.  By  the  end  of  the  second 
year  the  Count,  better  fed  and  better  served,  enjoyed  the  com- 
forts of  modern  life ;  he  had  fine  horses,  supplied  by  a  coach- 
man to  whom  I  paid  so  much  a  month  for  each  horse;  his 
dinners  on  his  reception  days,  furnished  by  Chevet  at  a  price 
agreed  upon,  did  him  credit;  his  daily  meals  were  prepared 
by  an  excellent  cook  found  by  my  uncle,  and  helped  by  two 
kitchenmaids.  The  expenditure  for  housekeeping,  not  in- 
cluding purchases,  was  no  more  than  thirty  thousand  francs  a 
year ;  we  had  two  additional  men-servants,  whose  care  restored 
the  poetical  aspect  of  the  house ;  for  this  old  palace,  splendid 
even  in  its  rust,  had  an  air  of  dignity  which  neglect  had  dis- 
honored. 

"  'I  am  no  longer  astonished,^  said  he,  on  hearing  of  these 
results,  %t  the  fortunes  made  by  my  servants.  In  seven  years 
I  have  had  two  cooks,  who  have  become  rich  restaurant- 
keepers.' 

"'And  in  seven  years  you  have  lost  a  hundred  thousand 
francs,'  replied  I.  'You,  a  judge,  who  in  your  court  sign 
summonses  against  crime,  encouraged  robbery  in  your  own 
house.' 

"Early  in  the  year  1826  the  Count  had,  no  doubt,  ceased 
to  watch  me,  and  we  were  as  closely  attached  as  two  men 


HONORINE 


319 


can  be  when  one  is  subordinate  to  the  other.  He  had  never 
spoken  to  me  of  my  future  prospects^  but  be  had  taken  an  in- 
terest, both  as  a  master  and  as  a  father,  in  training  me.  He 
often  required  me  to  collect  materials  for  his  most  arduous 
labors ;  I  drew  up  some  of  his  reports,  and  ho  corrected  them^ 
showing  the  difference  between  his  interpretation  of  the  law^ 
his  views  and  mine.  When  at  last  I  had  produced  a  docu- 
ment which  he  could  give  in  as  his  own  he  was  delighted ;  this 
satisfaction  was  my  reward,  and  he  could  see  that  I  took  it  so. 
This  little  incident  produced  an  extraordinary  effect  on  a  soul 
which  seemed  so  stern.  The  Count  pronounced  sentence  on 
me,  to  use  a  legal  phrase,  as  supreme  and  royal  judge ;  he  took 
my  head  in  his  hands,  and  kissed  me  on  the  forehead. 

'Maurice,'  he  exclaimed,  'you  are  no  longer  my  apprentice 
I  know  not  yet  what  you  will  be  to  me — but  if  no  chang} 
occurs  in  my  life,  perhaps  you  will  take  the  place  of  a  son.' 

"Comte  Octave  had  introduced  me  to  the  best  houses  m 
Paris,  whither  I  went  in  his  stead,  with  his  servants  and  car- 
riage, on  the  too  frequent  occasions  when,  on  the  point  of 
starting,  he  changed  his  mind,  and  sent  for  a  hackney  cab  io 
take  him — Where? — that  was  the  mystery.  By  the  welcome 
I  met  with  I  could  judge  of  the  Count's  feelings  towards  mo, 
and  the  earnestness  of  his  recommendations.  He  supplied 
all  my  wants  with  the  thoughtfulness  of  a  father,  and  with 
all  the  greater  liberality  because  my  modesty  left  it  to  hiivL 
always  to  think  of  me.  Towards  the  end  of  January  1827,  at 
the  house  of  the  Comtesse  de  Serizy,  I  had  such  persistent 
ill-luck  at  play  that  I  lost  two  thousand  francs,  and  I  would 
not  draw  them  out  of  my  savings.  Next  morning  I  asked  my- 
self, 'Had  I  better  ask  my  uncle  for  the  money,  or  put  my  con- 
fidence in  the  Count  ?' 

"I  decided  on  the  second  alternative. 

"  'Yesterday,'  said  I,  when  he  was  at  breakfast,  'I  lost 
persistently  at-  play ;  I  was  provoked,  and  went  on ;  I  owe  two 
thousand  francs.  Will  you  allow  me  to  draw  the  sum  on  ac- 
count of  my  year's  salary?' 

"  'No/  said  he,  with  the  sweetest  smile;  'when  a  man  plays 


320 


HONORINE 


in  society,  he  must  have  a  gambling  purse.    Draw  six  thou 
sand  francs ;  pay  your  debts.    Henceforth  we  must  go  halves ; 
for  since  you  are  my  representative  on  most  occasions;,  your 
self-respect  must  not  be  made  to  suffer  for  it.' 

"I  made  no  speech  of  thanks.  Thanks  would  have  been 
superfluous  between  us.  This  shade  shows  the  character  of 
our  relations.  And  yet  we  had  not  yet  unlimited  confidence 
in  each  other;  he  did  not  open  to  me  the  vast  subterranean 
chambers  which  I  had  detected  in  his  secret  life;  and  I,  for 
my  part,  never  said  to  him,  ^What  ails  you  ?  From  what  are 
you  suffering?' 

^^What  could  he  be  doing  during  those  long  evenings  ?  He 
would  often  come  in  on  foot  or  in  a  hackney  cab  when  I  re- 
turned in  a  carriage — I,  his  secretary !  Was  so  pious  a  man  a 
})rey  to  vices  hidden  under  hypocrisy  ?  Did  he  expend  all  the 
])owers  of  his  mind  to  satisfy  a  jealousy  more  dexterous  than 
Othello^s  ?  Did  he  live  with  some  woman  unworthy  of  him  ? 
One  morning,  on  returning  from  I  have  forgotten  what  shop, 
where  I  had  just  paid  a  bill,  between  the  Church  of  Saint- 
Paul  and  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  I  came  across  Comte  Octave  in 
such  eager  conversation  with  an  old  woman  that  he  did  not 
see  me.  The  appearance  of  this  hag  filled  me  with  strange 
suspicions,  suspicions  that  Vv-ere  all  the  better  founded  be- 
cause I  never  found  that  the  Count  invested  his  savings. 
Is  it  not  shocking  to  think  of?  I  was  constituting  myself 
my  patron's  censor.  At  that  time  I  knew  that  he  had  more 
than  six  hundred  thousand  francs  to  invest;  and  if  he  had 
bought  securities  of  any  kind,  his  confidence  in  me  was  so 
complete  in  all  that  concerned  his  pecuniary  interests,  that  I 
certainly  should  have  known  it. 

"Sometimes,  in  the  morning,  the  Count  took  exercise  in  hie 
garden,  to  and  fro,  like  a  man  to  whom  a  walk  is  the  hippo- 
gryph  ridden  by  dreamy  melancholy.  He  walked  and  walked  ! 
And  he  rubbed  his  hands  enough  to  rub  the  skin  off.  And 
then,  if  I  met  him  unexpectedly  as  he  came  to  the  angle  of  a 
path,  I  saw  his  face  beaming.  His  eyes,  instead  of  the  hard- 
ness of  a  turquoise,  had  that  velvety  softness  of  the  blue  r2ri- 


HONORINE 


323 


winkle,  which  had  so  much  struck  me  on  the  occasion  of  my 
first  visit,  by  reason  of  the  astonishing  contrast  in  the  two 
different  looks;  the  look  of  a  happy  man,  and  the  look  of  an 
unhappy  man.  Two  or  three  times  at  such  a  moment  he  had 
taken  me  by  the  arm  and  led  me  on ;  then  he  had  said,  ^What 
have  you  come  to  ask  ?'  instead  of  pouring  out  his  joy  into  my 
heart  that  opened  to  him.  But  more  often,  especially  since 
I  could  do  his  work  for  him  and  write  his  reports,  the  un- 
happy man  would  sit  for  hours  staring  at  the  goldfish  that 
swarmed  in  a  handsome  marble  basin  in  the  middle  of  the 
garden,  round  which  grew  an  amphitheatre  of  the  finest 
flowers.  He,  an  accomplished  statesman,  seemed  to  have 
succeeded  in  making  a  passion  of  the  mechanical  amusement 
of  crumbling  bread  to  fishes. 

"This  is  how  the  drama  was  disclosed  of  this  second  inner 
life,  so  deeply  ravaged  and  storm-tossed,  where,  in  a  circle 
overlooked  by  Dante  in  his  Inferno,  horrible  joys  had  their 
birth." 

The  Consul-General  paused. 

"On  a  certain  Monday,"  he  resumed,  "as  chance  would  have 
it,  M.  le  President  de  Grandville  and  M.  de  Serizy  (at  that 
time  Vice-President  of  the  Council  of  State)  had  come  to  hold 
a  meeting  at  Comte  Octave^s  house.  They  formed  a  com- 
mittee of  three,  of  which  I  was  the  secretary.  The  Count 
had  already  got  me  the  appointment  of  Auditor  to  the  Council 
of  State.  All  the  documents  requisite  for  their  inquiry  into 
the  political  matter  privately  submitted  to  these  three  gentlemen 
were  laid  out  on  one  of  the  long  tables  in  the  library.  MM. 
de  Grandville  and  de  Serizy  had  trusted  to  the  Count  to  make 
the"^  preliminary  examination  of  the  papers  relating  to  the 
matter.  To  avoid  the  necessity  for  carrying  all  the  papers  to 
M.  de  Serizy,  as  president  of  the  commission,  it  was  decided 
that  they  should  meet  first  in  the  Rue  Payenne.  The 
Cabinet  at  the  Tuileries  attached  great  importance  to  this 
piece  of  work,  of  which  the  chief  burden  fell  on  me — and 


322 


HONORINE 


which  I  owed  my  appointment,  in  the  course  of  that  year,  to 
be  Master  of  Appeals. 

"Though  the  Comtes  de  Grandville  and  de  Serizy,  whose 
habits  were  much  the  same  as  my  patron's,  never  dined  away 
from  home,  we  were  still  discussing  the  matter  at  a  late  hour, 
when  we  were  startled  by  the  man-servant  calling  me  aside  to 
say,  'MM.  the  Cures  of  Saint-Paul  and  of  the  White  Friars 
have  been  waiting  in  the  drawing-room  for  two  hours.' 

"It  was  nine  o'clock. 

"  'Well,  gentlemen,  you  find  yourselves  compelled  to  dine 
with  priests,'  said  Comte  Octave  to  his  colleagues.  'I  do  not 
know  whether  Grandville  can  overcome  his  horror  of  a  priest's 
gown  ' 

"  'It  depends  on  the  priest.' 

"'One  of  them  is  my  uncle,  and  the  other  is  the  Abbe 
'laudron,'  said  I.  'Do  not  be  alarmed ;  the  Abbe  Fontanon 
1^1  no  longer  second  priest  at  Saint-Paul  ' 

"  'Well,  let  us  dine,'  replied  the  President  de  Grandville. 
'ii  bigot  frightens  me,  but  there  is  no  one  so  cheerful  as  a 
truly  pious  man.' 

"We  went  into  the  drawing-room.  The  dinner  was  delight- 
ful. Men  of  real  information,  politicians  to  whom  business 
gives  both  consummate  experience  and  the  practice  of  speech, 
are  admirable  story-tellers,  when  they  tell  stories.  With  them 
there  is  no  medium ;  they  are  either  heavy,  or  they  are  sublime. 
In  this  delightful  sport  Prince  Metternich  is  as  good  as 
Charles  Nodier.  The  fun  of  a  statesman,  cut  in  facets  like 
a  diamond,  is  sharp,  sparkling,  and  full  of  sense.  Being 
sure  that  the  proprieties  would  be  observed  by  these  three 
superior  men,  my  uncle  allowed  his  wit  full  play,  a  refined 
wit,  gentle,  penetrating,  and  elegant,  like  that  of  all  men 
who  are  accustomed  to  conceal  their  thoughts  under  the  black 
robe.  And  you  may  rely  upon  it,  there  was  nothing  vulgar 
nor  idle  in  this  light  talk,  which  I  would  compare,  for  its 
effect  on  the  soul,  to  Rossini's  music. 

"The  Abbe  Gaudron  was^  as  M.  de  Grandville  said,  a  Saint 
Peter  rather  than  a  Saint  Paul,  a  peasant  full  of  faith,  a« 


HONORINE 


323 


square  on  his  feet  as  he  was  tall,  a  sacerdotal  of  whose  igno- 
rance in  matters  of  the  world  and  of  literature  enlivened  the 
conversation  by  guileless  amazement  and  unexpected  ques- 
tions. They  came  to  talking  of  one  of  the  plague  spots  of 
social  life,  of  which  we  were  just  now  speaking — adultery. 
My  uncle  remarked  on  the  contradiction  which  the  legislators 
of  the  Code,  still  feeling  the  blows  of  the  revolutionary 
storm,  had  established  between  civil  and  religious  law,  and 
which  he  said  was  at  the  root  of  all  the  mischief. 

"  'In  the  eyes  of  the  Church,'  said  he,  'adultery  is  a  crime ; 
in  those  of  your  tribunals  it  is  a  misdemeanor.  Adultery 
drives  to  the  police  court  in  a  carriage  instead  of  standing  at 
the  bar  to  be  tried.  Napoleon's  Council  of  State,  touched 
with  tenderness  towards  erring  women,  was  quite  inefficient. 
Ought  they  not  in  this  case  to  have  harmonized  the  civil  and 
the  religious  law,  and  have  sent  the  guilty  wife  to  a  convent, 
as  of  old  ?' 

"  'To  a  convent  V  said  M.  de  Serizy.  'They  must  first  haw 
created  convents,  and  in  those  days  monasteries  were  bein;!: 
turned  into  barracks.  Besides,  think  of  what  you  sa}^,  M , 
FAbbe — give  to  God  what  society  would  have  none  of  ?' 

"  'Oh  V  said  the  Comte  de  Grandville,  'you  do  not  know 
France.  They  were  obliged  to  leave  the  husband  free  to  take 
proceedings :  well,  there  are  not  ten  cases  of  adultery  brought 
up  in  a  year.' 

"'M.  I'Abbe  preaches  for  his  own  saint,  for  it  was  Jesus 
Christ  who  invented  adultery,'  said  Comte  Octave.  'In  the 
East,  the  cradle  of  the  human  race,  woman  was  merely  a 
luxury,  and  there  was  regarded  as  a  chattel;  no  virtues  were 
demanded  of  her  but  obedience  and  beauty.  By  exalting  the 
soul  above  the  body,  the  modern  family  in  Europe — a  daughter 
of  Christ — invented  indissoluble  marriage,  and  made  it  a 
sacrament.' 

"'Ah!  the  Church  saw  the  difficulties,'  exclaimed  M.  de 
Grandville. 

"  'This  institution  has  given  rise  to  a  new  world,'  the  Count 
went  on  with  a  smile.    'But  the  practices  of  that  world  will 


324 


HONORINB 


never  be  that  of  a  climate  where  women  are  marriageable  at 
seven  years  of  age,  and  more  than  old  at  five-and-twenty. 
The  Catholic  Church  overlooked  the  needs  of  half  the  globe. 
— So  let  lis  discuss  Europe  onl}^ 

"  'Is  woman  our  superior  or  our  inferior  ?  That  is  the 
real  question  so  far  as  we  are  concerned.  If  woman  is  our 
inferior,  by  placing  her  on  so  high  a  level  as  the  Church  does, 
fearful  punishments  for  adultery  were  needful.  And  formerly  ^ 
that  was  what  was  done.  The  cloister  or  death  sums  up  early 
legislation.  But  since  then  practice  has  modified  the  law,  as 
is  always  the  case.  The  throne  served  as  a  hotbed  for  adul- 
tery, and  the  increase  of  this  inviting  crime  marks  the  decline 
of  the  dogmas  of  the  Catholic  Church.  In  these  dayis,  in  cases 
where  the  Church  now  exacts  no  more  than  sincere  repentance 
from  the  erring  wife,  society  is  satisfied  with  a  brand-mark 
instead  of  an  execution.  The  law  still  condemns  the  guilty, 
but  it  no  longer  terrifies  them.  In  short,  there  are  two 
standards  of  morals :  that  of  the  world,  and  that  of  the  Code. 
Where  the  Code  is  weak,  as  I  admit  with  our  dear  Abbe,  the 
world  is  audacious  and  satirical.  There  are  so  few  judges 
who  would  not  gladly  have  committed  the  fault  against  which 
they  hurl  the  rather  stolid  thunders  of  their  "Inasmuch.^'  The 
world,  which  gives  the  lie  to  the  law  alike  in  its  rejoicings,  in 
its  habits,  and  in  its  pleasures,  is  severer  than  the  Code  and 
the  Church;  the  world  punishes  a  blunder  after  encouraging 
hypocrisy.  The  whole  economy  of  the  law  on  marriage  seems 
to  me  to  require  reconstruction  from  the  bottom  to  the  top. 
The  French  law  would  be  perfect  perhaps  if  it  excluded 
daughters  from  inheriting.' 

"  'We  three  among  us  know  the  question  very  thoroughly,' 
said  the  Comte  de  Grandville  with  a  laugh.  T  have  a  wife 
I  cannot  live  with.  Serizy  has  a  wife  who  will  not  live  with 
him.  As  for  you,  Octave,  yours  ran  away  from  you.  So  we 
three  represent  every  case  of  the  conjugal  conscience,  and,  no 
doubt,  if  ever  divorce  is  brought  in  again,  we  shall  form  the 
committee.' 

"Octave's  fork  dropped  on  his  glass,  broke  it,  and  broke  his 


HONOIUNE 


325 


plate.  He  had  turned  as  pale  as  death,  and  flashed  a  thun- 
derous glare  at  M.  de  Grand ville,  by  which  he  hinted  at  my 
presence,  and  which  I  caught. 

"  Torgive  me,  my  dear  fellow.  I  did  not  see  Maurice/ 
the  President  went  on.  ^Serizy  and  I,  after  being  the  wit- 
nesses to  your  marriage,  became  your  accomplices;  I  did 
not  think  I  was  committing  an  indiscretion  in  the  presence 
of  these  two  venerable  priests.' 

"M.  de  Serizy  changed  the  subject  by  relating  all  he  had 
done  to  please  his  wife  without  ever  succeeding.  The  old  man 
concluded  that  it  was  impossible  to  regulate  human  sym- 
pathies and  antipathies;  he  maintained  that  social  law  was 
never  more  perfect  than  when  it  was  nearest  to  natural  law. 
Now,  Nature  takes  no  account  of  the  affinities  of  souls;  her 
aim  is  fulfilled  by  the  propagation  of  the  species.  Hence,  the 
Code,  in  its  present  form,  was  wise  in  leaving  a  wide  latitude 
to  chance.  The  incapacity  of  daughters  to  inherit  so  long 
as  there  were  male  heirs  was  an  excellent  provision,  whether 
to  hinder  the  degeneration  of  the  race,  or  to  make  house- 
holds happier  by  abolishing  scandalous  unions  and  giving  the 
sole  preference  to  moral  qualities  and  beauty. 

"  'But  then,'  he  exclaimed,  lifting  his  hand  with  a  gesture 
of  disgust,  'how  are  we  to  perfect  legislation  in  a  country 
which  insists  on  bringing  together  seven  or  eight  hundred 
legislators ! — After  all,  if  I  am  sacrificed,'  he  added,  'I  have 
a  child  to  succeed  me.' 

"  'Setting  aside  all  the  religious  question,'  my  uncle  said, 
'I  would  remark  to  your  Excellency  that  Nature  only  owes 
us  life,  and  that  it  is  society  that  owes  us  happiness.  Are 
you  a  father?'  asked  my  uncle. 

"  'And  I — have  I  any  children  ?'  said  Comte  Octave  in  a 
hollow  voice,  and  his  tone  made  such  an  impression  that  there 
was  no  more  talk  of  wives  or  marriage. 

"When  coffee  had  been  served,  the  two  Counts  and  the  two 
priests  stole  away,  seeing  that  poor  Octave  had  fallen  into  a 
fit  of  melancholy,  which  prevented  his  noticing  their  dis- 
appearance. My  patron  was  sitting  in  an  armchair  by  the 
fire,  in  the  attitude  of  a  man  crushed. 


326 


HONORINE 


'^'You  now  know  the  secret  of  my  life/  said  he  to  me  on 
noticing  that  we  were  alone.  ^After  three  years  of  married 
life,  one  evening  when  I  came  in  I  found  a  letter  in  which 
the  Countess  announced  her  flight.  The  letter  did  not  lack 
dignity,  for  it  is  in  the  nature  of  women  to  preserve  some 
virtues  even  when  committing  that  horrible  sin. — The  story 
now  is  that  my  wife  went  abroad  in  a  ship  that  was  wrecked; 
she  is  supposed  to  be  dead.  I  have  lived  alone  for  seven 
years ! — Enough  for  this  evening,  Maurice.  We  will  talk 
of  my  situation  when  I  have  grown  used  to  the  idea  of  speak- 
ing of  it  to  you.  When  we  suffer  from  a  chronic  disease,  it 
needs  time  to  become  accustomed  to  improvement.  That  im- 
provement often  seems  to  be  merely  another  aspect  of  the  con- 
plaint.' 

"1  went  to  bed  greatly  agitated ;  for  the  mystery,  far  from 
being  explained,  seemed  to  me  more  obscure  than  ever.  I 
foresaw  some  strange  drama  indeed,  for  I  understood  that 
.there  could  be  no  vulgar  difference  between  the  woman  the 
Count  could  choose  and  such  a  character  as  his.  The  events 
which  had  driven  the  Countess  to  leave  a  man  so  noble,  so 
amiable,  so  perfect,  so  loving,  so  worthy  to  be  loved,  must 
have  been  singular,  to  say  the  least.  M.  de  Grandville's  re- 
mark had  been  like  a  torch  flung  into  the  caverns  over  which 
I  had  so  long  been  walking;  and  though  the  flame  lighted 
them  but  dimly,  my  eyes  could  perceive  their  wide  extent! 
I  could  imagine  the  Count's  sufferings  without  knowing  their 
depth  or  their  bitterness.  That  sallow  face,  those  parched 
temples,  those  overwhelming  studies,  those  moments  of  absent- 
mindedness,  the  smallest  details  of  the  life  of  this  married 
bachelor,  all  stood  out  in  luminous  relief  during  the  hour  of 
mental  questioning,  which  is,  as  it  were,  the  twilight  before 
sleep,  and  to  which  any  man  would  have  given  himself  up,  as 
I  did. 

'^Oh  !  how  I  lovedmy  poor  master  !  Heseemed  tome  sublime. 
I  read  a  poem  of  melancholy,  I  saw  perpetual  activity  in  the 
heart  I  had  accused  of  being  torpid.  Must  not  supreme  grief 
always  come  at  last  to  stagnation  ?    Had  this  judge,  who  had 


HONORINE 


327 


SO  much  in  his  power,  ever  revenged  liimself  ?  Was  he  feeding 
himse]  f  on  her  long  agony  ?  Is  it  not  a  remarkable  thing  in 
Paris  to  keep  anger  always  seething  for  ten  years?  What 
had  Octave  done  since  this  great  misfortune — for  the  separa- 
tion of  husband  and  wife  is  a  great  misfortune  in  our  day, 
when  domestic  life  has  become  a  social  question,  which  it 
never  was  of  old  ? 

"We  allowed  a  few  days  to  pass  on  the  watch,  for  great 
sorrows  have  a  diffidence  of  their  own;  but  at  last,  one  even- 
ing, the  Count  said  in  a  grave  voice : 

"  'Stay/ 

"This,  as  nearly  as  may  be,  is  his  story. 

"  *My  father  had  a  ward,  rich  and  lovely,  who  was  sixteen 
at  the  time  when  I  came  back  from  college  to  live  in  this  old 
house.  Honorine,  who  had  been  brought  up  by  my  mother, 
was  just  awaking  to  life.  Full  of  grace  and  of  childish  ways, 
she  dreamed  of  happiness  as  she  would  have  dreamed  of 
jewels ;  perhaps  happiness  seemed  to  her  the  jewel  of  the  soul. 
Her  piety  w^as  not  free  from  puerile  pleasures ;  for  everything, 
even  religion,  was  poetry  to  her  ingenuous  heart.  She  looked 
to  the  future  as  a  perpetual  fete.  Innocent  and  pure,  no 
delirium  had  disturbed  her  dream.  Shame  and  grief  had 
never  tinged  her  cheek  nor  moistened  her  eye.  She  did  not 
even  inquire  into  the  secret  of  her  involuntary  emotions  on  a 
fine  spring  day.  And  then,  she  felt  that  she  was  weak  and 
destined  to  obedience,  and  she  awaited  marriage  without  wish- 
ing for  it.  Her  smiling  imagination  knew  nothing  of  the  cor- 
ruption— necessary  perhaps — which  literature  imparts  by 
depicting  the  passions;  she  knew  nothing  of  the  world,  and 
was  ignorant  of  all  the  dangers  of  society.  The  dear  child 
had  suffered  so  little  that  she  had  not  even  developed  her 
courage.  In  short,  her  guilelessness  would  have  led  her  to 
walk  fearless  among  serpents,  like  the  ideal  figure  of  Inno- 
cence a  painter  once  created.  We  lived  together  like  two 
brothers. 

"  'At  the  end  of  a  year  I  said  to  her  one  day,  in  the  garden 


328 


HONORINE 


of  this  house,  by  the  basin,  as  we  stood  throwing  crumbs  to  the 
fish: 

"  *  "Would  3^ou  like  that  we  should  be  married  ?  With  me 
you  could  do  whatever  you  please,  while  another  man  would 
make  you  unhappy." 

" '  "Mamma/'  said  she  to  my  mother,  who  came  out  to  join 
us,  "Octave  and  I  have  agreed  to  be  married  " 

"  ^  "What !  at  seventeen  ?"  said  my  mother.  "No ;  you 
must  wait  eighteen  months ;  and  if  eighteen  months  hence  you 
like  each  other,  well,  your  birth  and  fortunes  are  equal,  you 
can  make  a  marriage  which  is  suitable,  as  well  as  being  a  love 
match.'' 

"  ^When  I  was  six-and-twenty,  and  Honorine  nineteen,  we 
were  married.  Our  respect  for  my  father  and  mother,  old 
folks  of  the  Bourbon  Court,  hindered  us  from  making  this 
house  fashionable,  or  renewing  the  furniture ;  we  lived  on,  as 
we  had  done  in  the  past,  as  children.  However,  I  went  into 
society;  I  initiated  my  wife  into  the  world  of  fashion;  and  I 
regarded  it  as  one  of  my  duties  to  instruct  her. 

"  recognized  afterwards  that  marriages  contracted  under 
such  circumstances  as  ours  bear  in  themselves  a  rock  against 
which  many  affections  are  wrecked,  many  prudent  calcula- 
tions, many  lives.  The  husband  becomes  a  pedagogue,  or,  if 
you  like,  a  professor,  and  love  perishes  under  the  rod  which, 
sooner  or  later,  gives  pain;  for  a  j^oung  and  handsome  wife, 
at  once  discreet  and  laughter-loving,  will  not  accept  any 
superiority  above  that  vvdth  which  she  is  endowed  by  nature. 
Perhaps  I  was  in  the  wrong  ?  During  the  difficult  beginnings 
of  a  household  I,  perhaps,  assumed  a  magisterial  tone?  On 
the  other  hand,  I  may  have  made  the  mistake  of  trusting  too 
entirely  to  that  artless  nature;  I  kept  no  watch  over  the 
Countess,  in  whom  revolt  seemed  to  me  impossible  ?  Alas ! 
neither  in  politics  nor  in  domestic  life  has  it  yet  been  ascer- 
tained whether  empires  and  happiness  are  wrecked  by  too 
much  confidence  or  too  much  severity !  Perhaps,  again,  the 
husband  failed  to  realize  lionorine's  girlish  dreams?  Who 
can  tell,  while  happy  days  last,  what  precepts  he  has  neg- 
lected?' 


flONORINE 


329 


"I  remember  only  the  broad  outlines  of  the  reproaches  the 
Count  addressed  to  himself,  with  all  the  good  faith  of  an 
anatomist  seeking  the  cause  of  a  disease  which  might  be  over- 
looked by  his  brethren ;  but  his  merciful  indulgence  struck  me 
then  as  really  worthy  of  that  of  Jesus  Christ  when  lie 
rescued  the  woman  taken  in  adultery. 

"  *It  was  eighteen  months  after  my  father^s  death — ^my 
mother  followed  him  to  the  tomb  in  a  few  months — when  the 
fearful  night  came  which  surprised  me  by  Honorine's  fare- 
well letter.  What  poetic  delusion  had  seduced  my  wife  ?  Was 
it  through  her  senses  ?  Was  it  the  magnetism  of  misfortune 
or  of  genius  ?  Which  of  these  powers  had  taken  her  by  storm 
or  misled  her  ? — I  would  not  know.  The  blow  was  so  terrible, 
that  for  a  month  I  remained  stunned.  Afterwards,  reflection 
counseled  me  to  continue  in  ignorance,  and  Honorine's  mis- 
fortunes have  since  taught  me  too  much  about  all  these  things. 
— So  far,  Maurice,  the  story  is  commonplace  enough ;  but  one 
word  will  change  it  all :  I  love  Honorine,  I  have  never  ceased 
to  worship  her.  From  the  day  when  she  left  me  I  have  lived 
on  memory ;  one  by  one  I  recall  the  pleasures  for  which  Honor- 
ine no  doubt  had  no  taste. 

"  ^Oh !'  said  he,  seeing  the  amazement  in  my  eyes,  ^do  not 
make  a  hero  of  me,  do  not  think  me  such  a  fool,  as  a  Colonel 
of  the  Empire  would  say,  as  to  have  sought  no  diversion. 
Alas,  my  boy !  I  was  either  too  young  or  too  much  in  love ; 
I  have  not  in  the  whole  world  met  with  another  woman. 
After  frightful  struggles  with  myself,  I  tried  to  forget ;  money 
in  hand,  I  stood  on  the  very  threshold  of  infidelity,  but  there 
the  memory  of  Honorine  rose  before  me  like  a  white  statue. 
As  I  recalled  the  infinite  delicacy  of  that  exquisite  skin, 
through  which  the  blood  might  be  seen  coursing  and  the  nerves 
quivering ;  as  I  saw  in  fancy  that  ingenuous  face,  as  guileless 
on  the  eve  of  my  sorrows  as  on  the  day  when  I  said  to  her, 
"Shall  we  marry?"  as  I  remembered  a  heavenly  fragrance, 
the  very  odor  of  virtue,  and  the  light  in  her  eyes,  the  pretti- 
ness  of  her  movements,  I  fled  like  a  man  preparing  to  violate 
a  tomb,  who  sees  emerging  from  it  the  transfigured  soul  of  the 


330 


HONORINE 


dead.  At  consultations,  in  Court,  by  night,  I  dream  so  in- 
cessantly  of  Honorine  that  only  by  excessive  strength  of  mind 
do  I  succeed  in  attending  to  what  I  am  doing  and  saying. 
This  is  the  secret  of  my  labors. 

"  'Well,  I  felt  no  more  anger  with  her  than  a  father  can 
feel  on  seeing  his  beloved  child  in  some  danger  it  has  im- 
prudently rushed  into.  I  understood  that  I  had  made  a 
poem  of  my  wife — a  poem  I  delighted  in  with  such  intoxica- 
tion, that  I  fancied  she  shared  the  intoxication.  Ah !  Maurice, 
an  indiscriminating  passion  in  a  husband  is  a  mistake  that 
may  lead  to  any  crime  in  a  wife.  I  had  no  doubt  left  all  the 
faculties  of  this  child,  loved  as  a  child,  entirely  unemployed; 
I  had  perhaps  wearied  her  with  my  love  before  the  hour  of 
loving  had  struck  for  her !  Too  young  to  understand  that  in 
the  constancy  of  the  wife  lies  the  germ  of  the  mother's  de- 
votion, she  mistook  this  first  test  of  marriage  for  life  itself, 
jnd  the  refractory  child  cursed  life,  unknown  to  me,  not  dar- 
:  Qg  to  complain  to  me,  out  of  sheer  modesty  perhaps !  In  so 
.  ruel  a  position  she  would  be  defenceless  against  any  man 
■  ;ho  stirred  her  deeply. — And  I,  so  wise  a  judge  as  they  say — 
1,  who  have  a  kind  heart,  but  whose  mind  was  absorbed — I 
1  luderstood  too  late  these  unv/ritten  laws  of  the  woman's  code, 
I  read  them  by  the  light  of  the  fire  that  wrecked  my  roof, 
^rhen  I  constituted  my  heart  a  tribunal  by  virtue  of  the  law, 
for  the  law  makes  the  husband  a  judge :  I  acquitted  my  wife, 
and  I  condemned  myself.  But  love  took  possession  of  me  as  a 
passion,  the  mean,  despotic  passion  which  comes  over  some  old 
men.  At  this  day  I  love  the  absent  Honorine  as  a  man  of 
sixty  loves  a  woman  whom  he  must  possess  at  any  cost,  and  yet 
I  feel  the  strength  of  a  young  man.  I  have  the  insolence  of 
the  old  man  and  the  reserve  of  a  boy. — My  dear  fellow, 
society  only  laughs  at  such  a  desperate  conjugal  predicament. 
Where  it  pities  a  lover,  it  regards  a  husband  as  ridiculously 
inept;  it  makes  sport  of  those  who  cannot  keep  the  woman 
they  have  secured  under  the  canopy  of  the  Church,  and  before 
the  Maire's  scarf  of  office.    And  I  had  to  keep  silence. 

"  'Serizy  is  happy.    His  indulgence  allows  him  to  see  his 


HONOEINB 


331 


wife;  he  can  protect  and  defend  her;  and,  as  he  adores  her, 
he  knows  all  the  perfect  joys  of  a  benefactor  whom  nothing 
can  disturb,  not  even  ridicule,  for  he  pours  it  himself  on  his 
fatherly  pleasures.  "I  remain  married  only  for  my  wife's 
sake,"  he  said  to  me  one  day  on  coming  out  of  court. 

"  'But  — I  have  nothing ;  I  have  not  even  to  face  ridicule, 
I  who  live  solely  on  a  love  which  is  starving  !  I  who  can  never 
find  a  word  to  say  to  a  woman  of  the  world !  I  who  loathe 
prostitution !  I  who  am  faithful  under  a  spell ! — But  for  my 
religious  faith,  I  should  have  killed  myself.  I  have  defied  the 
gulf  of  hard  work ;  I  have  thrown  myself  into  it,  and  come  out 
again  alive,  fevered,  burning,  bereft  of  sleep !  ' 

"I  /annot  remember  all  the  words  of  this  eloquent  man,  to 
whom  passion  gave  an  eloquence  indeed  so  far  above  that  of 
the  pleader  that,  as  I  listened  to  him,  I,  like  him,  felt  my 
clieeks  wet  with  tears.  You  may  conceive  of  my  feelings 
M  hen,  after  a  pause,  during  which  we  dried  them  away,  he 
fiaished  his  story  with  this  revelation : — 

"  'This  is  the  drama  of  my  soul,  but  it  is  not  the  actual 

iWing  drama  which  is  at  this  moment  being  acted  in  Paris ! 

The  interior  drama  interests  nobody.    I  know  it ;  and  you  will 

(yae  day  admit  that  it  is  so,  you,  who  at  this  moment  shed 

toars  with  me;  no  one  can  burden  his  heart  or  his  skin  with 

^.nother's  pain.    The  measure  of  our  sufferings  is  in  our- 

ifelves. — You  even  understand  my  sorrows  only  by  very  vague 

analogy.    Could  you  see  me  calming  the  most  violent  frenzy 

of  despair  by  the  contemplation  of  a  miniature  in  which  I  can 

see  and  kiss  her  brow,  the  smile  on  her  lips,  the  shape  of  her 

face,  can  breathe  the  whiteness  of  her  skin ;  which  enables  me 

almost  to  feel,  to  play  with  the  black  masses  of  her  curling 

hair? — Could  you  see  me  when  I  leap  with  hope — when  I 

writhe  under  the  myriad  darts  of  despair — when  I  tramp 

through  the  mire  of  Paris  to  quell  my  irritation  by  fatigue? 

I  have  fits  of  collapse  comparable  to  those  of  a  consumptive 

patient,  moods  of  wild  hilarity,  terrors  as  of  a  murderer  who 

meets  a  sergeant  of  police.    In  short,  my  life  is  a  continual 

paroxysm  of  fears,  joy,  and  dejection. 
VOL.  4 — 4b 


332 


HONORINE 


"  ^As  to  the  drama — it  is  this.  You  imagine  that  I  am 
occupied  with  the  Council  of  State,  the  Chamber,  the  Courts, 
Politics. — Why,  dear  me,  seven  hours  at  night  are  enough 
for  all  that,  so  much  are  my  faculties  overwrought  by  the  life 
I  lead !  Honorine  is  my  real  concern.  To  recover  my  wife 
is  my  only  study;  to  guard  her  in  her  cage,  without  her  sus- 
pecting that  she  is  in  my  power ;  to  satisfy  her  needs,  to  supply 
the  little  pleasure  she  allows  herself,  to  be  always  about  her 
like  a  sylph  without  allowing  her  to  see  or  to  suspect  me,  for 
if  she  did,  the  future  would  be  lost, — that  is  my  life,  my  true 
life. — For  seven  years  I  have  never  gone  to  bed  without  going 
first  to  see  the  light  of  her  night-lamp,  or  her  shadow  on  the 
window  curtains. 

"  ^She  left  my  house,  choosing  to  take  nothing  but  the  dress 
she  v/ore  that  day.  The  child  carried  her  magnanimity  to  the 
point  of  folly !  Consequently,  eighteen  months  after  her 
flight  she  was  deserted  by  her  lover,  who  was  appalled  by  the 
cold,  cruel,  sinister,  and  revolting  aspect  of  poverty — tho 
coward!  The  man  had,  no  doubt,  counted  on  the  easy  and 
luxurious  life  in  Switzerland  or  Italy  which  fine  ladies  in- 
dulge in  when  they  leave  their  husbands.  Honorine  has  sixty 
thousand  francs  a  year  of  her  own.  The  wretch  left  the  dear 
creature  expecting  an  infant,  and  without  a  penny.  In  the 
month  of  [N'ovember  1820  I  found  means  to  persuade  the  best. 
accoucheur  in  Paris  to  play  the  part  of  a  humble  suburban 
apothecary.  I  induced  the  priest  of  the  parish  in  which 
the  Countess  was  living  to  supply  her  needs  as  though  he  were 
performing  an  act  of  charity.  Then  to  hide  my  wife,  to 
secure  her  against  discovery,  to  find  her  a  housekeeper  who 
would  be  devoted  to  me  and  be  my  intelligent  confidante — it 
was  a  task  worthy  of  Figaro !  You  may  suppose  that  to 
discover  where  my  wife  had  taken  refuge  I  had  only  to  make 
up  my  mind  to  it. 

"^After  three  months  of  desperation  rather  than  despair, 
the  idea  of  devoting  myself  to  Honorine  with  God  only  in 
my  secret,  was  one  of  those  poems  which  occur  only  to  the 
heart  of  a  lover  through  life  and  death!    Love  must  have 


HONORINB 


333 


its  daily  food.  And  ought  I  not  to  protect  this  child,  whose 
guilt  was  the  outcome  of  my  imprudence,  against  fresh  disaster 
— to  fulfil  my  part,  in  short,  as  a  guardian  angel  ? — At  the  age 
of  seven  months  her  infant  died,  happily  for  her  and  for  me. 
For  nine  months  more  my  wife  lay  between  life  and  death, 
deserted  at  the  time  when  she  most  needed  a  manly  arm ;  but 
this  arm,^  said  he,  holding  out  his  own  with  a  gesture  of 
angelic  dignity,  Vas  extended  over  her  head.  Honorine  was 
nursed  as  she  would  have  been  in  her  own  home.  When,  on 
her  recovery,  ^le  asked  how  and  by  whom  she  had  been  assisted, 
she  was  told — "By  the  Sisters  of  Charity  in  the  neighborhood 
— by  the  Maternity  Society — by  the  parish  priest,  who  took  an 
interest  in  her." 

"  'This  woman,  whose  pride  amounts  to  a  vice,  has  shown 
a  power  of  resistance  in  misfortune,  which  on  some  evenings 
I  call  the  obstinacy  of  a  mule.  Honorine  was  bent  on  earn- 
ing her  living.  My  wife  works !  For  five  years  past  I  have 
lodged  her  in  the  Eue  Saint-Maur,  in  a  charming  little  house, 
where  she  makes  artificial  flowers  and  articles  of  fashion. 
She  believes  that  she  sells  the  product  of  her  elegant  fancy- 
work  to  a  shop,  where  she  is  so  well  paid  that  she  makes  twenty 
francs  a  day,  and  in  these  six  years  she  has  never  had  a  mo- 
ment's suspicion.  She  pays  for  everything  she  needs  at  about 
the  third  of  its  value,  so  that  on  six  thousand  francs  a  year 
she  lives  as  if  she  had  fifteen  thousand.  She  is  devoted  to 
flowers,  and  pays  a  hundred  crowns  to  a  gardener,  who  costs 
me  twelve  hundred  in  wages,  and  sends  me  in  a  bill  for  two 
thousand  francs  every  three  months.  I  have  promised  the 
man  a  market-garden  with  a  house  on  it  close  to  the  porter's 
lodge  in  the  Rue  Saint-Maur.  I  hold  this  ground  in  the 
name  of  a  clerk  of  the  law  courts.  The  smallest  indis- 
cretion would  ruin  the  gardener's  prospects.  Honorine  has 
her  little  house,  a  garden,  and  a  splendid  hothouse,  for  a  rent 
of  flve  hundred  francs  a  year.  There  she  lives  under  the 
name  of  her  housekeeper,  Madame  Gobain,  the  old  woman 
of  impeccable  discretion  whom  I  was  so  lucky  as  to  find,  and 
whosQ  affection  Honorine  has  won.    But  her  zeal,  like  that  of 


334  HONORINE 

the  gardener,  is  kept  hot  by  the  promise  of  reward  at  the  mo- 
mert  of  success.  The  porter  and  his  wife  cost  me  dreadfully 
dear  for  the  same  reasons.  However,  for  three  years  Honorine 
has  been  happy,  believing  that  she  owes  to  her  own  toil  all  the 
luxury  of  flowers,  dress,  and  comfort. 

"  ^Oh !  I  know  what  you  are  about  to  say,'  cried  the  Count, 
seeing  a  question  in  my  eyes  and  on  my  lips.  'Yes,  yes;  I 
have  made  the  attempt.  My  wife  was  formerly  living  in  the 
Faubourg  Saint-Antoine.  One  day  when,  from  what  Go- 
bain  told  me,  1  believed  in  some  chance  of  a  reconciliation, 
I  wrote  by  post  a  letter,  in  which  I  tried  to  propitiate  my 
wife — a  letter  written  and  re-written  twenty  times !  I  will 
not  describe  my  agonies.  I  went  from  the  Rue  Payenne  to 
the  Eue  de  Reuilly  like  a  condemned  wretch  going  from  the 
Palais  de  Justice  to  his  execution,  but  he  goes  on  a  cart,  and 
I  was  on  foot.  It  was  dark — there  was  a  fog ;  I  went  to  meet 
Madame  Gobain,  who  was  to  come  and  tell  me  what  my  wife 
had  done.  Honorine,  on  recognizing  my  writing,  had  thrown 
the  letter  into  the  fire  without  reading  it. — "Madame  Gobain,'' 
she  had  exclaimed,  "I  leave  this  to-morrow." 

"  'What  a  dagger-stroke  was  this  to  a  man  who  found  in- 
exhaustible pleasure  in  the  trickery  by  which  he  gets  the 
finest  Lyons  velvet  at  twelve  francs  a  yard,  a  pheasant,  a  fish, 
a  dish  of  fruit,  for  a  tenth  of  their  value,  for  a  woman  so 
ignorant  as  to  believe  that  she  is  paying  ample  wages  with  two 
hundred  and  fifty  francs  to  Madame  Gobain,  a  cook  fit  for  a 
bishop. 

"  'You  have  sometimes  found  me  rubbing  my  hands  in  the 
enjoyment  of  a  sort  of  happiness.  Well,  I  had  just  succeeded 
in  some  ruse  worthy  of  the  stage.  I  had  just  deceived  my  wife 
— I  had  sent  her  by  a  purchaser  of  wardrobes  an  Indian  shawl, 
to  be  offered  to  her  as  the  property  of  an  actress  who  had 
hardly  worn  it,  but  in  which  I — the  solemn  lawyer  whom  you 
know — ^had  wrapped  myself  for  a  night!  In  short,  my  life 
at  this  day  may  be  summed  up  in  the  two  words  which  ex- 
press the  extremes  of  torment — I  love,  and  I  wait!  I  have 
in  Madame  Gobain  a  faithful  spy  on  the  heart  I  worship.  I 


HONORINE 


335 


go  every  evening  to  chat  with  the  old  woman,  to  hear  from  her 
all  that  Honorine  has  done  during  the  day,  the  lightest  word 
she  has  spoken,  for  a  single  exclamation  might  betray  to  me 
the  secrets  of  that  soul  which  is  wilfully  deaf  and  dumb. 
Honorine  is  pious ;  she  attends  the  Church  services  and  prays, 
but  she  has  never  been  to  confession  or  taken  the  Communion ; 
she  foresees  what  a  priest  would  tell  her.  She  will  not  listen 
to  the  advice,  to  the  injunction,  that  she  should  return  to  me. 
This  horror  of  me  overwhelms  me,  dismays  me,  for  I  have 
never  done  her  the  smallest  harm.  I  have  always  been  kind 
to  her.  Granting  even  that  I  may  have  been  a  little  hasty  when 
teaching  her,  that  my  man's  irony  may  have  hurt  her  legiti- 
mate girlish  pride,  is  that  a  reason  for  persisting  in  a  de- 
termination which  only  the  most  implacable  hatred  could 
have  inspired?  Honorine  has  never  told  Madame  Gobain 
who  she  is;  she  keeps  absolute  silence  as  to  her  marriage,  so 
that  the  worthy  and  respectable  woman  can  never  speak  a 
word  in  my  favor,  for  she  is  the  only  person  in  the  house  who 
knows  my  secret.  The  others  know  nothing;  they  live  under 
the  awe  caused  by  the  name  of  the  Prefect  of  Police,  and  their 
respect  for  the  power  of  a  Minister.  Hence  it  is  impossible 
for  me  to  penetrate  that  heart ;  the  citadel  is  mine,  but  I  can- 
not get  into  it.  I  have  not  a  single  means  of  action.  An  act 
of  violence  would  ruin  me  for  ever. 

"  ^How  can  I  argue  against  reasons  of  which  I  know  noth- 
ing ?  Should  I  write  a  letter,  and  have  it  copied  by  a  public 
writer,  and  laid  before  Honorine  ?  But  that  would  be  to  run 
the  risk  of  a  third  removal.  The  last  cost  me  fifty  thousand 
francs.  The  purchase  was  made  in  the  first  instance  in  the 
name  of  the  secretary  whom  you  succeeded.  The  unhappy 
man,  who  did  not  know  how  lightly  I  sleep,  was  detected  by 
me  in  the  act  of  opening  a  box  in  which  I  had  put  the  private 
agreement;  I  coughed,  and  he  was  seized  with  a  panic;  next 
day  I  compelled  him  to  sell  the  house  to  the  man  in  whose 
name  it  now  stands,  and  I  turned  him  out. 

"  ^If  it  were  not  that  I  feel  all  my  noblest  faculties  as  a 
man  satisfied,  happy,  expansive;  if  the  part  I  am  playing 


536 


HONORINE 


were  not  that  of  divine  fatherhood;  if  I  did  not  drink  in 
delight  by  every  pore^,  there  are  moments  when  I  should  be- 
lieve that  I  was  a  monomaniac.  Sometimes  at  night  I  hear 
the  jingling  bells  of  madness.  I  dread  the  violent  transitions 
from  a  feeble  hope,  which  sometimes  shines  and  flashes  np, 
to  complete  despair,  falling  as  low  as  man  can  fall.  A  few 
days  since  I  was  seriously  considering  the  horrible  end  of  the 
story  of  Lovelace  and  Clarissa  Harlowe,  and  saying  to  myself, 
If  Honorine  were  the  mother  of  a  child  of  mine,  must  she  not 
necessarily  return  under  her  husband's  roof? 

"  'And  I  have  such  complete  faith  in  a  happy  future,  that 
ten  months  ago  I  bought  and  paid  for  one  of  the  handsomest 
houses  in  the  Faubourg  Saint-Honore.  If  I  win  back 
Honorine,  I  will  not  allow  her  to  see  this  house  again,  nor 
the  room  from  which  she  fled.  I  mean  to  place  my  idol  in  a 
new  temple,  where  she  may  feel  that  life  is  altogether  new. 
That  house  is  being  made  a  marvel  of  elegance  and  taste.  I 
have  been  told  of  a  poet  who,  being  almost  mad  with  love  for 
an  actress,  bought  the  handsomest  bed  in  Paris  without 
knowing  how  the  actress  would  reward  his  passion.  Well, 
one  of  the  coldest  of  lawyers,  a  man  who  is  supposed  to  be 
the  gravest  adviser  of  the  Crown,  was  stirred  to  the  depths 
of  his  heart  by  that  anecdote.  The  orator  of  the  Legislative 
Chamber  can  understand  the  poet  who  fed  his  ideal  on 
material  possibilities.  Three  days  before  the  arrival  of  Maria 
Louisa,  ISTapoleon  flung  himself  on  his  wedding  bed  at  Com- 
piegne.  All  stupendous  passions  have  the  same  impulses. 
I  love  as  a  poet — as  an  emperor !' 

"As  I  heard  the  last  words,  I  believed  that  Count  Octave's 
fears  were  realized;  he  had  risen,  and  was  walking  up  and 
down,  and  gesticulating,  but  he  stopped  as  if  shocked  by  the 
vehemence  of  his  own  words. 

"  'I  am  very  ridiculous,'  he  added,  after  a  long  pause,  look- 
ing at  me,  as  if  craving  a  glance  of  pity. 

"  'No,  monsieur,  you  are  very  unhappy.' 

"  'Ah  yes !'  said  he,  taking  up  the  thread  of  his  con^ 
fidences.    'From  the  violence  of  my  speech  you  may,  you 


HONOKINE 


337 


must  believe  in  the  intensity  of  a  physical  passion  which  for 
nine  years  has  absorbed  all  my  faculties;  but  that  is  nothing 
in  comparison  with  the  worship  I  feel  for  the  soul,  the  mind, 
the  heart,  all  in  that  woman  that  is  not  mere  woman;  the 
enchanting  divinities  in  the  train  of  Love,  with  whom  we  pass 
our  life,  and  who  form  the  daily  poem  of  a  fugitive  delight. 
By  a  phenomenon  of  retrospection  I  see  now  the  graces  of 
Honorine's  mind  and  heart,  to  which  I  paid  little  heed  in  the 
time  of  my  happiness — like  all  who  are  happy.  From  day 
to  day  I  have  appreciated  the  extent  of  my  loss,  discovering 
the  exquisite  gifts  of  that  capricious  and  refractory  young 
creature  who  has  grown  so  strong  and  so  proud  under  the 
heavy  hand  of  poverty  and  the  shock  of  the  most  cowardly 
desertion.  And  that  heavenly  blossom  is  fading  in  solitude 
and  hiding ! — Ah !  The  law  of  which  we  were  speaking,'  he 
went  on  with  bitter  irony,  ^the  law  is  a  squad  of  gendarmes 
— my  wife  seized  and  dragged  away  by  force !  W ould  not 
that  be  to  triumph  over  a  corpse?  Eeligion  has  no  hold  on 
her;  she  craves  its  poetry,  she  prays,  but  she  does  not  listen 
to  the  commandments  of  the  Church.  I,  for  my  part,  have 
exhausted  everything  in  the  way  of  mercy,  of  kindness,  of  love ; 
I  am  at  my  wits'  end.  Only  one  chance  of  victory  is  left  to 
me;  the  cunning  and  patience  with  which  bird-catchers  at 
last  entrap  the  wariest  birds,  the  swiftest,  the  most  capricious, 
and  the  rarest.  Hence,  Maurice,  when  M.  de  Grandville's 
indiscretion  betrayed  to  you  the  secret  of  my  life,  I  ended 
by  regarding  this  incident  as  one  of  the  decrees  of  fate,  one 
of  the  utterances  for  which  gamblers  listen  and  pray  in  the 
midst  of  their  most  impassioned  play.  .  .  .  Have  you 
enough  affection  for  me  to  show  me  romantic  devotion  ?' 

"  see  what  you  are  coming  to.  Monsieur  le  Comte,'  said  I, 
interrupting  him ;  guess  your  purpose.  Your  first  secretary 
tried  to  open  your  deed  box.  I  know  the  heart  of  your  second 
— he  might  fall  in  love  with  your  wife.  And  can  you  devote 
him  to  destruction  by  sending  him  into  the  fire?  Can  any 
oiie  put  his  hand  into  a  brazier  without  burning  it  ?' 

"  *You  are  a  foolish  boy,'  replied  the  Count.    *I  will  send 


338 


HONOKINB 


you  well  gloved.  It  is  no  secretary  of  mine  that  will  be 
lodged  in  the  Kue  Saint-Maur  in  the  little  garden-house  which 
I  have  at  his  disposal.  It  is  my  distant  cousin,  Baron  do 
FHostal,  a  lawyer  high  in  office    .  . 

"After  a  moment  of  silent  surprise,  I  heard  the  gate  bell 
ring,  and  a  carriage  came  into  the  courtyard.  Presently  the 
footman  announced  Madame  de  Courteville  and  her  daughter. 
The  Count  had  a  large  family  connection  on  his  mother's 
side.  Madame  de  Courteville,  his  cousin,  was  the  widow  of  a 
judge  on  the  bench  of  the  Seine  division,  who  had  left  her  a 
daughter  and  no  fortune  whatever.  What  could  a  woman  of 
nine-and-twenty  be  in  comparison  with  a  young  girl  of  twenty, 
as  lovely  as  imagination  could  wish  for  an  ideal  mistress  ? 

"  'Baron,  and  Master  of  Appeals,  till  you  get  something 
better,  and  this  old  house  settled  on  her, — would  not  you  have 
enough  good  reasons  for  not  falling  in  love  with  the  Countess  ?' 
he  said  to  me  in  a  whisper,  as  he  took  me  by  the  hand  and  in- 
troduced me  to  Madame  de  Courteville  and  her  daughter. 

"I  was  dazzled,  not  so  much  by  these  advantages  of  which 
I  had  never  dreamed,  butbyAmeliede  Courteville,  whose  beauty 
was  thrown  into  relief  by  one  of  those  well-chosen  toilets 
which  a  mother  can  achieve  for  a  daughter  when  she  wants 
to  see  her  married. 

"But  I  will  not  talk  of  myself,"  said  the  Consul  after  a 
pause. 

"Three  weeks  later  I  went  to  live  in  the  gardener's  cottage, 
which  had  been  cleaned,  repaired,  and  furnished  with  the 
celerity  which  is  explained  by  three  words:  Paris;  French 
workmen ;  money  !  I  was  as  much  in  love  as  the  Count  could 
possibly  desire  as  a  security.  Would  the  prudence  of  a  young 
man  of  five-and-twenty  be  equal  to  the  part  I  was  undertaking, 
involving  a  friend's  happiness  ?  To  settle  that  matter,  I  may 
confess  that  I  counted  very  much  on  my  uncle's  advice;  for 
I  had  been  authorized  by  the  Count  to  take  him  into  con- 
fidence  in  any  case  where  I  deemed  his  interference  necessary. 
I  engaged  a  garden;  I  devoted  myself  to  horticulture;  1 
worked  frantically,  like  a  man  whom  nothing  can  divert,  turn- 


HONORINE 


339 


ing  up  the  soil  of  the  market-garden,  and  appropriating  the 
ground  to  the  culture  of  flowers.  Like  the  maniacs  of  Eng- 
land, or  of  Holland,  I  gave  it  out  that  I  was  devoted  to  one 
kind  of  flower,  and  especially  grew  dahlias,  collecting  every 
variety.  You  will  understand  that  my  conduct,  even  in  the 
smallest  details,  was  laid  down  for  me  by  the  Count,  whose 
whole  intellectual  powers  were  directed  to  the  most  trifling 
incidents  of  the  tragi-comedy  enacted  in  the  Eue  Saint-Maur. 
As  soon  as  the  Countess  had  gone  to  bed,  at  about  eleven  at 
night.  Octave,  Madame  Gobain,  and  I  sat  in  council.  I  heard 
the  old  woman^s  report  to  the  Count  of  his  wife's  least  pro- 
ceedings during  the  day.  He  inquired  into  everything:  her 
meals,  her  occupations,  her  frame  of  mind,  her  plans  for  the 
morrow,  the  flowers  she  proposed  to  imitate.  I  understood 
what  love  in  despair  may  be  when  it  is  the  threefold  passion  of 
'the  heart,  the  mind,  and  the  senses.  Octave  lived  only  for 
that  hour. 

"During  two  months,  while  my  work  in  the  garden  lasted, 
L  never  set  eyes  on  the  little  house  where  my  fair  neigh- 
bor dwelt.  I  had  not  even  inquired  whether  I  had  a  neighbor, 
ilhough  the  Countess'  garden  was  divided  from  mine  by  a 
paling,  along  which  she  had  planted  cypress  trees  already 
four  feet  high.  One  fine  morning  Madame  Gobain  announced 
to  her  mistress,  as  a  disastrous  piece  of  news,  the  intention, 
expressed  by  an  eccentric  creature  who  had  become  her  neigh- 
bor, of  building  a  wall  between  the  two  gardens,  at  the  end  of 
the  year.  I  will  say  nothing  of  the  curiosity  which  consumed 
me  to  see  the  Countess !  The  wish  almost  extinguished  my 
budding  love  for  Amelie  de  Courteville.  My  scheme  for 
building  a  wall  was  indeed  a  serious  threat.  There  would  be 
"ao  more  fresh  air  for  Honorine,  whose  garden  would  then  be 
a  sort  of  narrow  alley  shut  in  between  my  wall  and  her  own 
little  house.  This  dwelling,  formerly  a  summer  villa,  was  like 
a  house  of  cards ;  it  v/as  not  more  than  thirty  feet  deep,  and 
about  a  hundred  feet  long.  The  garden  front,  painted  in  the 
German  fashion,  imitated  a  trellis  with  flowers  up  to  the 
second  floor,  and  was  a  really  charming  example  of  the  Pom- 


340 


HONORINE 


padour  style,  so  well  called  rococo.  A  long  avenue  of  limes 
led  up  to  it.  The  gardens  of  the  pavilion  and  my  plot  of 
ground  were  in  the  shape  of  a  hatchet,  of  which  this  avenue 
was  the  handle.  My  wall  would  cut  away  three-quarters  of 
the  hatchet. 

"The  Countess  was  in  despair. 

"  ^My  good  Gobain/  said  she,  %hat  sort  of  man  is  this 
florist?' 

"  '^On  my  word,'  said  the  housekeeper,  do  not  know 
whether  it  will  be  possible  to  tame  him.  He  seems  to  have  a 
horror  of  women.  He  is  the  nephew  of  a  Paris  cure.  I  have 
seen  the  uncle  but  once ;  a  fine  old  man  of  sixty,  very  ugly,  but 
very  amiable.  It  is  quite  possible  that  this  priest  encourages 
his  nephew,  as  they  say  in  the  neighborhood,  in  his  love  of 
flowers,  that  nothing  worse  may  happen  ' 

^^^Why— what?' 

"  *W ell,  your  neighbor  is  a  little  cracked !'  said  Gobain, 
tapping  her  head ! 

"Now  a  harmless  lunatic  is  the  only  man  whom  no  woman 
ever  distrusts  in  the  matter  of  sentiment.  You  will  see  how 
wise  the  Count  had  been  in  choosing  this  disguise  for  me. 

"  ^What  ails  him  then  ?'  asked  the  Countess. 

"  *^He  has  studied  too  hard,'  replied  Gobain ;  ^he  has  turned 
misanthropic.  And  he  has  his  reasons  for  disliking  women — ^ 
well,  if  you  want  to  know  all  that  is  said  about  him  ' 

"  *Well,'  said  Honorine,  ^madmen  frighten  me  less  than  sane 
folks ;  I  will  speak  to  him  myself !  Tell  him  that  I  beg  him  to 
come  here.    If  I  do  not  succeed,  I  will  send  for  the  cure.' 

"The  day  after  this  conversation,  as  I  was  walking  along 
my  graveled  path,  I  caught  sight  of  the  half -opened  curtains 
on  the  first  floor  of  the  little  house,  and  of  a  woman's  face 
curiously  peeping  out.  Madame  Gobain  called  me.  I  hastily 
glanced  at  the  Countess'  house,  and  by  a  rude  shrug  ex- 
pressed, *What  do  I  care  for  your  mistress!' 

"  ^Madame,'  said  Gobain,  called  upon  to  give  an  account  of 
her  errand,  'the  madman  bid  me  leave  him  in  peace,  saying 
that  even  a  charcoal  seller  is  master  in  his  own  premises,  es- 
pecially when  he  has  no  wife.' 


HONORINE 


341 


^He  is  perfectly  right/  said  the  Countess. 

"  'Yes,  but  he  ended  by  saying,  "I  will  go,"  when  I  told  him 
that  he  would  greatly  distress  a  lady  living  in  retirement, 
who  found  her  greatest  solace  in  growing  flowers.' 

''Next  day  a  signal  from  Gobain  informed  me  that  I  was  ex- 
pected. After  the  Countess'  breakfast,  when  she  was  walking 
to  and  fro  in  front  of  her  house,  I  broke  out  some  palings, 
and  went  towards  her.  I  had  dressed  myself  like  a  country- 
man, in  an  old  pair  of  gray  flannel  trousers,  heavy  wooden 
shoes,  and  shabby  shooting  coat,  a  peaked  cap  on  my  head, 
a  ragged  bandana  round  my  neck,  hands  soiled  with  mould, 
and  a  dibble  in  my  hand.- 

"  'Madame,'  said  the  housekeeper,  'this  good  man  is  your 
neighbor.' 

"The  Countess  was  not  alarmed.  I  saw  at  last  the  woman 
whom  her  own  conduct  and  her  husband's  confidences  had 
made  me  so  curious  to  meet.  It  v/as  in  the  early  days  of 
May.  The  air  was  pure,  the  weather  serene;  the  verdure 
of  the  first  foliage,  the  fragrance  of  spring  formed  a  setting 
for  this  creature  of  sorrow.  As  I  then  saw  Plonorine  I  under- 
stood Octave's  passion  and  the  truthfulness  of  his  description, 
'A  heavenly  flower!^ 

"Her  pallor  was  what  first  struck  me  by  its  peculiar  tone  of 
white — for  there  are  as  many  tones  of  white  as  of  red  or  blue. 
On  looking  at  the  Countess,  the  eye  seemed  to  feel  that  tender 
skin,  where  the  blood  flowed  in  the  blue  veins.  At  the  slightest 
emotion  the  blood  mounted  under  the  surface  in  rosy  flushes 
like  a  cloud.  When  we  met,  the  sunshine,  filtering  through 
the  light  foliage  of  the  acacias,  shed  on  Honorine  the  pale 
gold,  ambient  glory  in  which  Raphael  and  Titian,  alone  of 
all  painters,  have  been  able  to  enwrap  the  Virgin.  Her  brown 
eyes  expressed  both  tenderness  and  vivacity;  their  brightness 
seemed  reflected  in  her  face  through  the  long  downcast  lashes. 
Merely  by  lifting  her  delicate  eyelids,  Honorine  could  cast  a 
spell ;  there  was  so  much  feeling,  dignity,  terror,  or  contempt 
in  her  way  of  raising  or  dropping  those  veils  of  the  soul.  She 
could  freeze  or  give  life  by  a  look.    Her  light-brown  hair. 


342 


HONORINE 


carelessly  knotted  on  her  head,  outlined  a  poet's  brow,  high, 
powerful,  and  dreamy.  The  mouth  was  wholly  voluptuous. 
And  to  crown  all  by  a  grace,  rare  in  France,  though  common 
in  Italy,  all  the  lines  and  forms  of  the  head  had  a  stamp  of 
nobleness  which  would  defy  the  outrages  of  time. 

"Though  slight,  Honorine  was  not  thin,  and  her  figure 
struck  me  as  being  one  that  might  revive  love  when  it  believed 
itself  exhausted.  She  perfectly  represented  the  idea  conveyed 
by  the  word  mignonne,  for  she  was  one  of  those  pliant  little 
women  who  allow  themselves  to  be  taken  up,  petted,  set  down, 
and  taken  up  again  like  a  kitten.  Her  small  feet,  as  I  heard 
them  on  the  gravel,  made  a  light  sound  essentially  their  own, 
that  harmonized  with  the  rustle  of  her  dress,  producing  a 
feminine  music  which  stamped  itself  on  the  heart,  and  re- 
mained distinct  from  the  footfall  of  a  thousand  other  women. 
Her  gait  bore  all  the  quarterings  of  her  race  with  so  much 
pride,  that,  in  the  street,  the  least  respectful  working  man 
would  have  made  way  for  her.  Gay  and  tender,  haughty  and 
imposing,  it  was  impossible  to  understand  her,  excepting  as 
gifted  with  these  apparently  incompatible  qualities,  which, 
nevertheless,  had  left  her  still  a  child.  But  it  was  a  child 
who  might  be  as  strong  as  an  angel ;  and,  like  the  angel,  once 
hurt  in  her  nature,  she  would  be  implacable. 

"Coldness  on  that  face  must  no  doubt  be  death  to  those 
on  whom  her  eyes  had  smiled,  for  whom  her  set  lips  had 
parted,  for  those  whose  soul  had  drunk  in  the  melody  of  that 
voice,  lending  to  her  words  the  poetry  of  song  by  its  peculiar 
intonation.  Inhaling  the  perfume  of  violets  that  accom- 
panied her,  I  understood  how  the  memory  of  this  wife  had 
arrested  the  Count  on  the  threshold  of  debauchery,  and  how 
impossible  it  would  be  ever  to  forget  a  creature  who  really 
was  a  flower  to  the  touch,  a  flower  to  the  eye,  a  flower  of 
fragrance,  a  heavenly  flower  to  the  soul.  .  .  .  Honorine 
inspired  devotion,  chivalrous  devotion,  regardless  of  reward. 
A  man  on  seeing  her  must  say  to  himself: 

"  'Think,  and  I  will  divine  your  thought ;  speak,  and  I  will 
obey.    If  my  life,  sacrificed  in  torments,  can  procure  you  one 


HONORINE 


343 


day's  happiness,  take  my  life ;  I  will  smile  like  a  martyr  at  the 
stake,  for  I  shall  offer  that  clay  to  God,  as  a  token  to  A^hich  a 
father  responds  on  recognizing  a  gift  to  his  child/  Many 
women  study  their  expression,  and  succeed  in  producing 
effects  similar  to  those  which  would  have  struck  you  at  first 
sight  of  the  Countess;  only,  in  her,  it  all  was  the  outcome 
of  a  delightful  nature,  that  inimitable  nature  went  at  once 
to  the  heart.  If  I  tell  you  all  this,  it  is  because  her  soul,  her 
thoughts,  the  exquisiteness  of  her  heart,  are  all  we  are  con- 
cerned with,  and  you  would  have  blamed  me  if  I  had  not 
sketched  them  for  you. 

"I  was  very  near  forgetting  my  part  as  a  half-crazy  lout, 
clumsy,  and  by  no  means  chivalrous. 

am  told,  madame,  that  you  are  fond  of  flowers  V 
'I  am  an  artificial  flower-maker,'  said  she.  'After  grow- 
ing flowers,  I  imitate  them,  like  a  mother  who  is  artist  enough 
to  have  the  pleasure  of  painting  portraits  of  her  children. 
.  .  .  That  is  enough  to  tell  you  that  I  am  poor  and  unable 
to  pay  for  the  concession  I  am  anxious  to  obtain  from  you  ?' 

"  'But  how,'  said  I,  as  grave  as  a  judge,  'can  a  lady  of  such 
rank  as  yours  would  seem  to  be,  ply  so  humble  a  calling? 
Have  you,  like  me,  good  reasons  for  employing  your  fingers 
so  as  to  keep  your  brains  from  working?' 

"  'Let  us  stick  to  the  question  of  the  wall/  said  she,  with  a 
smile. 

"  'Why,  we  have  begun  at  the  foundations,'  said  I.  'Must 
not  I  know  which  of  us  ought  to  yield  to  the  other  in  behalf 
of  our  suffering,  or,  if  you  choose,  of  our  mania  ? — Oh !  what 
a  charming  clump  of  narcissus !  They  are  as  fresh  as  this 
spring  morning !' 

"I  assure  you,  she  had  made  for  herself  a  perfect  museum 
of  flowers  and  shrubs,  which  none  might  see  but  the  sun,  and 
of  which  the  arrangement  had  been  prompted  by  the  genius 
of  an  artist;  the  most  heartless  of  landlords  must  have  treated 
it  with  respect.  The  masses  of  plants,  arranged  according 
to  their  height,  or  in  single  clumps,  were  really  a  joy  to  the 
soul.    This  retired  and  solitary  garden  breathed  comforting 


344 


HONORINE 


scents,  and  suggested  none  but  sweet  thoughts  and  graceful 
nay,  voluptuous  pictures.  On  it  was  set  that  inscrutable  sign- 
manual,  which  our  true  character  stamps  on  everything,  as  soon 
as  nothing  compels  us  to  obey  the  various  hypocrisies,  neces- 
sary as  they  are,  which  Society  insists  on.  I  looked  alternately 
at  the  mass  of  narcissus  and  at  the  Countess,  affecting  to  be 
far  more  in  love  with  the  flowers  than  with  her,  to  carry  out 
my  part. 

^So  you  are  very  fond  of  flowers  T  said  she. 

"  ^Tliey  are,^  I  replied,  'the  only  beings  that  never  disap- 
point our  cares  and  affection.^  And  I  went  on  to  deliver 
such  a  diatribe  while  comparing  botany  and  the  world,  that 
we  ended  miles  away  from  the  dividing  wall,  and  the  Countess 
must  have  supposed  me  to  be  a  wretched  and  wounded  sufferer 
worthy  of  her  pity.  However,  at  the  end  of  half  an  hour  my 
neighbor  naturally  brought  me  back  to  the  point ;  for  women, 
when  they  are  not  in  love,  have  all  the  cold  blood  of  an  ex- 
perienced attorney. 

"  'If  you  insist  on  my  leaving  the  paling,'  said  I,  'you  will 
learn  all  the  secrets  of  gardening  that  I  want  to  hide;  I  am 
seeking  to  grow  a  blue  dahlia,  a  blue  rose;  I  am  crazy  for 
blue  flowers.  Is  not  blue  the  favorite  color  of  superior  souls  ? 
We  are  neither  of  us  really  at  home;  we  might  as  well  make 
a  little  door  of  open  railings  to  unite  our  gardens.  .  .  . 
You,  too,  are  fond  of  flowers;  you  will  see  mine,  I  shall  see 
yours.  If  you  receive  no  visitors  at  all,  I,  for  my  part,  have 
none  but  my  uncle,  the  Cure  of  the  White  Friars.' 

"  'No,'  said  she,  'I  will  give  you  the  right  to  come  into  my 
garden,  my  premises,  at  any  hour.  Come  and  welcome;  you 
will  always  be  admitted  as  a  neighbor  with  whom  I  hope  to 
keep  on  good  terms.  But  I  like  my  solitude  too  well  to 
burden  it  with  any  loss  of  independence.' 

"  'iVs  you  please,'  said  I,  and  with  one  leap  I  was  over  the 
paling. 

"  'Nov/,  of  what  use  would  a  door  be?'  said  I,  from  my  own 
domain,  turning  round  to  the  Countess,  and  mocking  her 
with  a  madman's  gesture  and  grimace. 


HONORINB 


345 


"For  a  fortnight  I  seemed  to  take  no  heed  of  my  neighbor. 
Towards  the  end  of  May,  one  lovely  evening,  we  happened 
both  to  be  out  on  opposite  sides  of  the  paling,  both  walking 
slowly.  Having  reached  the  end,  we  could  not  help  exchanging 
a  few  civil  words;  she  found  me  in  such  deep  dejection,  lost 
in  such  painful  meditations,  that  she  spoke  to  me  of  hope- 
fulness, in  brief  sentences  that  sounded  like  the  songs  with 
which  nurses  lull  their  babies.  I  then  leaped  the  fence, 
and  found  myself  for  the  second  time  at  her  side.  The 
Countess  led  me  into  the  house,  wishing  to  subdue  my  sad- 
ness. So  at  last  I  had  penetrated  the  sanctuary  where  every- 
thing was  in  harmony  with  the  woman  I  have  tried  to  de- 
scribe to  you. 

"Exquisite  simplicity  reigned  there.  The  interior  of  the 
little  house  was  just  such  a  dainty  box  as  the  art  of  the 
eighteenth  century  devised  for  the  pretty  profligacy  of  a  fine 
gentleman.  The  dining-room,  on  the  ground  floor,  was 
painted  in  fresco,  with  garlands  of  flowers,  admirably  and 
marvelously  executed.  The  staircase  was  charmingly 
decorated  in  monochrome.  The  little  drawing-room,  opposite 
che  dining-room,  was  very  much  faded ;  but  the  Countess  had 
hung  it  with  panels  of  tapestry  of  fanciful  designs,  taken  off 
old  screens.  A  bath-room  came  next.  Upstairs  there  was 
but  one  bedroom,  with  a  dressing-room,  and  a  library  which 
she  used  as  her  workroom.  The  kitchen  was  beneath  in  the 
basement  on  which  the  house  was  raised,  for  there  was  a 
flight  of  several  steps  outside.  The  balustrade  of  a  balcony 
in  garlands  a  la  Pompadour  concealed  the  roof ;  only  the  lead 
cornices  were  visible.  In  this  retreat  one  v/as  a  hundred 
leagues  from  Paris. 

"But  for  the  bitter  smile  which  occasionally  played  on  the 
beautiful  red  lips  of  this  pale  woman,  it  would  have  been 
possible  to  believe  that  this  violet  buried  in  her  thicket  of 
flowers  was  happy.  In  a  few  days  we  had  reached  a  certain 
degree  of  intimacy,  the  result  of  our  close  neighborhood  and 
of  the  Countess'  conviction  that  I  was  indifferent  to  women. 
A  look  would  have  spoilt  all,  and  I  never  allowed  a  thought 


846 


HONORINE 


of  her  to  be  seen  in  my  eyes.  Honorine  chose  to  regard  me  as 
an  old  friend.  Her  manner  to  me  was  the  outcome  of  a  kind 
of  pity.  Her  looks,  her  voice,  her  words,  all  showed  that  she 
was  a  hundred  miles  away  from  the  coquettish  airs  which 
the  strictest  virtue  might  have  allowed  under  such  circum- 
stances. She  soon  gave  me  the  right  to  go  into  the  pretty 
workshop  where  she  made  her  flowers,  a  retreat  full  of  books 
and  curiosities,  as  smart  as  a  boudoir  where  elegance  em- 
phasized the  vulgarity  of  the  tools  of  her  trade.  The  Couiit- 
ess  had  in  the  course  of  time  poetized,  as  I  may  say,  a  thing 
which  is  at  the  antipodes  to  poetry — a  manufacture. 

^Terhaps  of  all  the  work  a  woman  can  do,  the  making  of 
artificial  flowers  is  that  of  which  the  details  allow  her  to 
display  most  grace.  For  coloring  prints  she  must  sit  bent 
over  a  table  and  devote  herself,  with  some  attention,  to  this 
half  painting.  Embroidering  tapestry,  as  diligently  as  a 
woman  must  who  is  to  earn  her  living  by  it,  entails  con- 
sumption or  curvature  of  the  spine.  Engraving  music  is  one 
of  the  most  laborious,  by  the  care,  the  minute  exactitude,  and 
the  intelligence  it  demands.  Sewing  and  white  embroidery 
do  not  earn  thirty  sous  a  day.  But  the  making  of  flowers 
and  light  articles  of  wear  necessitates  a  variety  of  movements, 
gestures,  ideas  even,  which  do  not  take  a  pretty  woman  out  of 
her  sphere;  she  is  still  herself;  she  may  chat,  laugh,  sing,  or 
think. 

"There  was  certainly  a  feeling  for  art  in  the  way  in  which 
the  Countess  arranged  on  a  long  deal  table  the  myriad-colored 
petals  which  were  used  in  composing  the  flowers  she  was  to 
produce.  The  saucers  of  color  were  of  white  china,  and 
always  clean,  arranged  in  such  order  that  the  eye  could  at 
once  see  the  required  shade  in  the  scale  of  tints.  Thus  the 
aristocratic  artist  saved  time.  A  pretty  little  cabinet  with  a 
hundred  tiny  drawers,  of  ebony  inlaid  with  ivory,  contained 
the  little  steel  moulds  in  which  she  shaped  the  leaves  and  some 
forms  of  petals.  A  fine  Japanese  bowl  held  the  paste,  which 
was  never  allowed  to  turn  sour,  and  it  had  a  fitted  cover  with  a 
hinge  so  easy  that  she  could  lift  it  with  a  finger-tip.  The  wire, 


HONORINE 


347 


of  iron  and  brass,  lurked  in  a  little  drawer  of  the  table  be- 
fore her. 

"Under  her  eyes,  in  a  Venetian  glass,  shaped  like  a  flower- 
cup  on  its  stem,  was  the  living  model  she  strove  to  imitate. 
She  had  a  passion  for  achievement;  she  attempted  the  most, 
difficult  things,  close  racemes,  the  tiniest  corollas,  heaths, 
nectaries  of  the  most  variegated  hues.  Her  hands,  as  swift 
as  her  thoughts,  went  from  the  table  to  the  flower  she  was 
making,  as  those  of  an  accomplished  pianist  fly  over  the  keys. 
Her  fingers  seemed  to  be  fairies,  to  use  Perrault's  expression, 
so  infinite  were  the  different  actions  of  twisting,  fitting,  and 
pressure  needed  for  the  work,  all  hidden  under  grace  of 
movement,  while  she  adapted  each  motion  to  the  result  with 
the  lucidity  of  instinct. 

"I  could  not  tire  of  admiring  her  as  she  shaped  a  flower 
from  the  materials  sorted  before  her,  padding  the  wire  stem 
and  adjusting  the  leaves.  She  displayed  the  genius  of  a 
painter  in  her  bold  attempts;  she  copied  faded  flowers  and 
yellowing  leaves;  she  struggled  even  with  wildflowers,  the 
most  artless  of  ail,  and  the  most  elaborate  in  their  simpli- 
city. 

"  'This  art,'  she  would  say,  'is  in  its  infancy.  If  the  women 
of  Paris  had  a  little  of  the  genius  which  the  slavery  of  the  ha- 
rem brings  out  in  Oriental  women,  they  would  lend  a  complete 
language  of  flowers  to  the  wreaths  they  wear  on  their  head.  To 
please  my  own  taste  as  an  artist  I  have  made  drooping 
flowers  with  leaves  of  the  hue  of  Florentine  bronze,  such  as  are 
found  before  or  after  the  winter.  Would  not  such  a  crown  on 
the  head  of  a  young  woman  whose  life  is  a  failure  have  a 
certain  poetical  fitness?  How  many  things  a  woman  might 
express  by  her  head-dress !  Are  there  not  flowers  for 
drunken  Bacchantes,  flowers  for  gloomy  and  stern  bigots, 
pensive  flowers  for  women  who  are  bored?  Botany,  I  be- 
lieve, may  be  made  to  express  every  sensation  and  thought 
of  the  soul,  even  the  most  subtle.' 

"She  would  employ  me  to  stamp  out  the  leaves,  cut  up 

material,  and  prepare  wires  for  the  stems.    My  affected  desire 
VOL.  4 — 49 


348 


HONORINE 


for  occupation  made  me  soon  skilful.  We  talked  as  we  worked. 
When  I  had  nothing  to  do,  I  read  new  books  to  her,  for  I  had 
my  part  to  keep  up  as  a  man  weary  of  life,  worn  out  with 
griefs,  gloomy,  sceptical,  and  soured.  My  person  led  to  ador- 
able banter  as  to  my  purely  physical  resemblance — with  the 
exception  of  his  club  foot — to  Lord  Byron.  It  was  tacitly 
acknowledged  that  her  own  troubles,  as  to  which  she  kept  the 
most  profound  silence,  far  outweighed  mine,  though  the  causes 
I  assigned  for  my  misanthropy  might  have  satisfied  Young  or 
Job. 

"I  will  say  nothing  of  the  feelings  of  shame  which  tor- 
mented me  as  I  inflicted  on  my  heart,  like  the  beggars  in  the 
street,  false  wounds  to  excite  the  compassion  of  that  enchant- 
ing woman.  I  soon  appreciated  the  extent  of  my  devoted- 
ness  by  learning  to  estimate  the  baseness  of  a  spy.  The 
expressions  of  sympathy  bestowed  on  me  would  have  comforted 
the  greatest  grief.  This  charming  creature,  weaned  from  the 
world,  and  for  so  many  years  alone,  having,  besides  love, 
treasures  of  kindliness  to  bestow,  offered  these  to  me  with 
childlike  effusiveness  and  such  compassion  as  would  inevitably 
have  filled  with  bitterness  any  profligate  who  should  have 
fallen  in  love  with  her;  for,  alas,  it  was  all  charity,  all  sheei' 
pity.  Her  renunciation  of  love,  her  dread  of  what  is  called 
happiness  for  women,  she  proclaimed  with  equal  vehemence 
and  candor.  These  happy  days  proved  to  me  that  a  woman's 
friendship  is  far  superior  to  her  love. 

"I  suffered  the  revelations  of  my  sorrows  to  be  dragged 
from  me  with  as  many  grimaces  as.  a  young  lady  allows  her- 
self before  sitting  down  to  the  piano,  so  conscious  are  they  of 
the  annoyance  that  will  follow.  As  you  may  imagine,  the 
necessity  for  overcoming  my  dislike  to  speak  had  induced  the 
Countess  to  strengthen  the  bonds  of  our  intimacy;  but  she 
found  in  me  so  exact  a  counterpart  of  her  own  antipathy  to 
love,  that  I  fancied  she  was  well  content  with  the  chance  which 
had  brought  to  her  desert  island  a  sort  of  Man  Friday. 
Solitude  was  perhaps  beginning  to  weigh  on  her.  At  the 
same  time,  there  was  nothing  of  the  coquette  in  her ;  nothing 


HONORING 


S40 


survived  of  the  woman;  she  did  not  feel  that  she  had  a  heart, 
she  told  me,  excepting  in  the  ideal  world  where  she  found 
refuge.  I  involuntarily  compared  these  two  lives — hers  and 
the  Count's: — his,  all  activity,  agitation,  and  emotion;  hers, 
all  inaction,  quiescence,  and  stagnation.  The  woman  and  the 
man  were  admirably  obedient  to  their  nature.  My  mis- 
anthropy allowed  me  to  utter  cynical  sallies  against  men  and 
women  both,  and  I  indulged  in  them,  hoping  to  bring  Hon- 
orine  to  the  confidential  point ;  but  she  was  not  to  be  caught 
in  any  trap,  and  I  began  to  understand  that  mulish  obstinacy 
which  is  commoner  among  women  than  is  generally  sup- 
posed. 

"'The  Orientals  are  right,'  I  said  to  her  one  evening, 
'when  they  shut  you  up  and  regard  you  merely  as  the  play- 
things of  their  pleasure.  Europe  has  been  well  punished  for 
having  admitted  you  to  form  an  element  of  society  and  for 
accepting  you  on  an  equal  footing.  In  my  opinion,  woman 
is  the  most  dishonorable  and  cowardly  being  to  be  found. 
Nay,  and  that  is  where  her  charm  lies.  Where  would  be  the 
pleasure  of  hunting  a  tame  thing  ?  When  once  a  woman  has 
inspired  a  man's  passion,  she  is  to  him  for  ever  sacred ;  in  his 
eyes  she  is  hedged  round  by  an  imprescriptible  prerogative. 
In  men  gratitude  for  past  delights  is  eternal.  Though  hf; 
should  find  his  mistress  grown  old  or  unworthy,  the  woman 
still  has  rights  over  his  heart ;  but  to  you  women  the  man  you 
have  loved  is  as  nothing  to  you ;  nay,  more,  he  is  unpardonable 
in  one  thing — he  lives  on !  You  dare  not  own  it,  but  you  all 
have  in  your  hearts  the  feeling  which  that  popular  calumny 
called  tradition  ascribes  to  the  Lady  of  the  Tour  de  ISTesle: 
''What  a  pity  it  is  that  we  cannot  live  on  love  as  we  live  on 
fruit,  and  that  when  we  have  had  our  fill,  nothing  should 
survive  but  the  remembrance  of  pleasure  !"  ' 

"  'God  has,  no  doubt,  reserved  such  perfect  bliss  for  Para- 
dise,' said  she.  'But,'  she  added,  'if  your  argument  seems 
to  you  very  witty,  to  me  it  has  the  disadvantage  of  being 
false.  What  can  those  women  be  who  give  themselves  up  to 
a  succession  of  loves  ?'  she  asked,  looking  at  me  as  the  Virgin 


350 


HONORINB 


in  Ingres'  picture  looks  at  Louis  XIII.  offering  her  his  king- 
dom. 

"  *You  are  an  actress  in  good  faith/  said  I,  'for  you  gave 
me  a  look  just  now  which  would  make  the  fame  of  an 
actress.  Still,  lovely  as  you  are,  you  have  loved;  ergo,  you 
forget.' 

"  *I !'  she  exclaimed,  evading  my  question,  *I  am  not  a 
woman.    I  am  a  nun,  and  seventy-two  years  old !' 

"  'Then,  how  can  you  so  positively  assert  that  you  feel  more 
keenly  than  I  ?  Sorrov/  has  but  one  form  for  women.  The 
only  misfortunes  they  regard  are  disappointments  of  the 
heart.' 

"She  looked  at  me  sweetly,  and,  like  all  women  when  stuck 
between  the  issues  of  a  dilemma,  or  held  in  the  clutches  of 
truth,  she  persisted,  nevertheless,  in  her  wilfulness. 

"  'I  am  a  nun,'  she  said,  'and  you  talk  to  me  of  a  world 
where  I  shall  never  again  set  foot.' 

"  'Not  even  in  thought  ?'  said  I. 

"  'Is  the  world  so  much  to  be  desired  ?'  she  replied.  'Oh ! 
when  my  mind  wanders,  it  goes  higher.  The  angel  of  per- 
fection, the  beautiful  angel  Gabriel,  often  sings  in  my  heart. 
If  I  were  rich,  I  should  work,  all  the  same,  to  keep  me  from 
soaring  too  often  on  the  many-tinted  wings  of  the  angel,  and 
wandering  in  the  world  of  fancy.  There  are  meditations 
which  are  the  ruin  of  us  women !  I  owe  much  peace  of  mind 
to  my  flowers,  though  sometimes  they  fail  to  occupy  me.  On 
some  days  I  find  my  soul  invaded  by  a  purposeless  expectancy ; 
I  cannot  banish  some  idea  which  takes  possession  of  me, 
which  seems  to  make  my  fingers  clumsy.  I  feel  that  some 
great  event  is  impending,  that  my  life  is  about  to  change;  I 
listen  vaguely,  I  stare  into  the  darkness,  I  have  no  liking  for 
my  work,  and  after  a  thousand  fatigues  I  find  life  once  more 
—everyday  life.  Is  this  a  warning  from  heaven?  I  ask  my- 
self ' 

"After  three  months  of  this  struggle  between  two  diplo- 
mates,  concealed  under  the  semblance  of  youthful  melancholy, 
and  a  woman  whose  disgust  of  life  made  her  invulnerable,  I 


HONORINB 


851 


told  the  Count  that  it  was  impossible  to  drag  this  tortoise 
out  of  her  shell;  it  must  bo  broken.  The  evening  before,  in 
our  last  quite  friendly  discussion,  the  Countess  had  exclaimed : 

"  ^Lucretia's  dagger  wrote  in  letters  of  blood  the  watch- 
word of  Avoman's  charter:  Liberty!' 

'Trom  that  moment  the  Count  left  me  free  to  act. 

"  have  been  paid  a  hundred  francs  for  the  flowers  and 
caps  I  made  this  week!'  Honorine  exclaimed  gleefully  one 
Saturday  evening  when  I  went  to  visit  her  in  the  little 
sitting-room  on  the  ground  floor,  which  the  unavowed  pro- 
prietor had  had  regilt. 

''It  was  ten  o'clock.  The  twilight  of  July  and  a  glorious 
moon  lent  us  their  misty  light.  Gusts  of  mingled  per- 
fumes soothed  the  soul;  the  Countess  was  clinking  in  her 
hand  the  five  gold  pieces  given  to  her  by  a  supposititious 
dealer  in  fashionable  frippery,  another  of  Octave's  accom- 
plices found  for  him  by  a  ;judge,  M.  Popinot. 

"  'I  earn  my  living  by  amusing  myself/  said  she ;  'I  am  free, 
when  men,  armed  with  their  laws,  have  tried  to  make  u^j 
slaves.  Oh,  I  have  transports  of  pride  every  Saturday !  In 
short,  I  like  M.  Gaudissart's  gold  pieces  as  much  as  Lord 
Byron,  your  double,  liked  Mr.  Murray's.^ 

"  ^This  is  not  becoming  in  a  woman,'  said  I. 

"  Tooh !  Am  I  a  woman  ?  I  am  a  boy  gifted  with  a  soft 
soul,  that  is  all ;  a  boy  whom  no  woman  can  torture — ■— 

"  'Your  life  is  the  negation  of  your  whole  being,'  I  re- 
plied. 'What?  You,  on  whom  God  has  lavished  His 
choicest  treasures  of  love  and  beauty,  do  you  never  wish  ' 

"  'For  what  ?'  said  she,  somewhat  disturbed  by  a  speech 
which,  for  the  first  time,  gave  the  lie  to  the  part  I  had 
assumed. 

"'For  a  pretty  little  child,  with  curling  hair,  running, 
jplaying  among  the  flowers,  like  a  flower  itself  of  life  and  love, 
and  calling  you  mother !' 

"I  waited  for  an  answer.  A  too  prolonged  silence  led  me 
to  perceive  the  terrible  effect  of  my  words,  though  the  dark- 
ness at  first  concealed  it.    Leaning  on  her  sofa,  the  Countess 


352 


HONORINE 


had  not  indeed  fainted,  but  frozen  under  a  nervous  attack  of 
which  the  first  chill,  as  gentle  as  everything  that  was  part 
of  her,  felt,  as  she  afterwards  said,  like  the  influence  of  a 
most  insidious  poison.  I  called  Madame  Gobain,  who  came 
and  led  away  her  mistress,  laid  her  on  her  bed,  unlaced  her, 
undressed  her,  and  restored  her,  not  to  life,  it  is  true,  but  to 
the  consciousness  of  some  dreadful  suffering.  I  meanwhile 
walked  up  and  down  the  path  behind  the  house,  weeping,  and 
doubting  my  success.  I  only  wished  to  give  up  this  part  of 
the  bird-catcher  which  I  had  so  rashly  assumed.  Madame 
Gobain,  who  came  down  and  found  me  with  my  face  wet  with 
tears,  hastily  went  up  again  to  say  to  the  Countess : 

"  ^What  has  happened,  madame  ?  Monsieur  Maurice  is 
crying  like  a  child.^ 

"Eoused  to  action  by  the  evil  interpretation  that  might  be 
put  on  our  mutual  behavior,  she  summoned  superhuman 
strength  to  put  on  a  wrapper  and  come  down  to  me. 

"  'You  are  not  the  cause  of  this  attack,'  said  she.    *I  am 

subject  to  these  spasms,  a  sort  of  cramp  of  the  heart  ^ 

'And  will  you  not  tell  me  of  your  troubles  T  said  I,  in  a 
voice  which  cannot  be  affected,  as  I  wiped  away  my  tears. 
"Have  you  not  just  now  told  me  that  you  have  been  a  mother, 
and  have  been  so  unhappy  as  to  lose  your  child  T 

"  'Marie !'  she  called  as  she  rang  the  bell.    Gobain  came 

in. 

"  'Bring  lights  and  some  tea,'  said  she,  with  the  calm  de- 
cision of  a  Mylady  clothed  in  the  armor  of  pride  by  the  dread- 
ful English  training  which  you  know  too  well. 

"When  the  housekeeper  had  lighted  the  tapers  and  closed 
the  shutters,  the  Countess  showed  me  a  mute  countenance; 
her  indomitable  pride  and  gravity,  worthy  of  a  savage,  had 
already  reasserted  their  mastery.    She  said : 

"'Do  you  know  why  I  like  Lord  Byron  so  much?  It  is 
because  he  suffered  as  animals  do.  Of  what  use  are  com- 
plaints when  they  are  not  an  elegy  like  Manfred's,  nor  bitter 
mockery  like  Don  Juan's,  nor  a  reverie  like  Childe  Harold's? 
Nothing  shall  be  known  of  me.  My  heart  is  a  poem  that  I 
Jay  before  God.' 


HONORINB 


353 


"  ^If  1  chose  '  said  I. 

'Ur  she  repeated. 

"  *I  have  no  interest  in  anything/  I  replied,  'so  I  cannot 
be  inquisitive;  but,  if  I  chose,  I  could  know  all  your  secrets 
by  to-morrow.' 

"'I  defy  you!'  she  exclaimed,  with  ill-disguised  uneasi- 
ness. 

"  'Seriously?' 

"  'Certainly,'  said  she,  tossing  her  head.  'If  such  a  crime 
is  possible,  I  ought  to  know  it.' 

"  'In  the  first  place,  madame,'  I  went  on,  pointing  to  her 
hands,  'those  pretty  fingers,  which  are  enough  to  show  that 
you  are  not  a  mere  girl — were  they  made  for  toil  ?  Then  you 
call  yourself  Madame  Gobain,  you,  who,  in  my  presence  the 
other  day  on  receiving  a  letter,  said  to  Marie :  "Here,  this  is 
for  you  ?"  Marie  is  the  real  Madame  Gobain ;  so  you  conceal 
your  name  behind  that  of  your  housekeeper. — Fear  nothing, 
madame,  from  me.  You  have  in  me  the  most  devoted  friend 
you  will  ever  have:  Friend,  do  you  understand  me?  I  give 
this  word  its  sacred  and  pathetic  meaning,  so  profaned  in 
France,  where  we  apply  it  to  our  enemies.  And  your  friend, 
who  will  defend  you  against  everything,  only  wishes  that  you 
should  be  as  happy  as  such  a  woman  ought  to  be.  Who  can 
tell  whether  the  pain  I  have  involuntarily  caused  you  was 
not  a  voluntary  act?' 

"  'Yes,'  replied  she  with  threatening  audacity,  'I  insist  on  it. 
Be  curious,  and  tell  me  all  that  you  can  find  out  about  me; 
but,'  and  she  held  up  her  finger,  'you  must  also  tell  me  by 
what  means  you  obtain  your  information.  The  preservation 
of  the  small  happiness  I  enjoy  here  depends  on  the  steps  you 
take.' 

"  'That  means  that  you  will  fly  ' 

"  'On  wings  !'  she  cried,  'to  the  New  World  ' 

'"Where  you  will  be  at  the  mercy  of  the  brutal  passions 
you  will  inspire,'  said  I,  interrupting  her.  'Is  it  not  the  very 
essence  of  genius  and  beauty  to  shine,  to  attract  men's  gaze, 
to  excite  desires  and  evil   houghts?    Paris  is  a  desert  with 


354 


HONORINE 


Bedouins;  Paris  is  the  only  place  in  the  world  where  those 
who  must  work  for  their  livelihood  can  hide  their  life.  What 
have  you  to  complain  of?  Who  am  I?  An  additional  ser- 
vant— M.  Gobain,  that  is  all.  If  you  have  to  fight  a  duel, 
you  may  need  a  second.^ 

"  ^Never  mind ;  find  out  who  I  am.  I  have  already  said 
that  I  insist.  Now,  I  beg  that  you  will/  she  went  on,  with  the 
grace  which  you  ladies  have  at  command/'  said  the  Consul, 
looking  at  the  ladies. 

"  'Well,  then,  to-morrow,  at  the  same  hour,  I  will  tell  you 
what  I  may  have  discovered,^  replied  I.  'But  do  not  there- 
fore hate  me !    Will  you  behave  like  other  women  ?' 

"  'What  do  other  women  do  ?' 

"  'They  lay  upon  us  immense  sacrifices,  and  when  we  have 
made  them,  they  reproach  us  for  it  some  time  later  as  if  it 
were  an  injury.' 

"  'They  are  right  if  the  thing  required  appears  to  be  a 
sacrifice!'  replied  she  pointedly. 

"  'Instead  of  sacrifices,  say  efforts  and  ' 

"  'It  would  be  an  impertinence,'  said  she. 

"  'Forgive  me,'  said  I.  'I  forget  that  woman  and  the  Pope 
are  infallible.' 

"  'Good  heavens !'  said  she  after  a  long  pause,  'only  two 
words  would  be  enough  to  destroy  the  peace  so  dearly  bought, 
and  which  I  enjoy  like  a  fraud  ' 

"She  rose  and  paid  no  further  heed  to  me. 

"'Where  can  I  go?'  she  said.  'What  is  to  become  of  me? 
—Must  I  leave  this  quiet  retreat,  that  I  had  arranged  with 
such  care  to  end  my  days  in  ?' 

"  'To  end  your  days  !'  exclaimed  I  with  visible  alarm.  'Has 
it  never  struck  you  that  a  time  would  come  when  you  could 
no  longer  work,  when  competition  will  lower  the  price  of 
flowers  and  articles  of  fashion  ?•' 

"  'I  have  already  saved  a  thousand  crowns,'  she  said. 

"  'Heavens !  what  privations  such  a  sum  must  represent !' 
I  exclaimed. 

"  'Leave  me/  said  she;>  'till  to-i -'^rrow.    This  evening  I  am 


HONORINE 


355 


not  myself;  I  must  be  alone.  Must  I  not  save  my  strength  in 
case  of  disaster?  For,  if  you  should  learn  anything,  others 
besides  you  would  be  informed,  and  then — Good-night,'  she 
added  shortly,  dismissing  me  with  an  imperious  gesture. 

"  *The  battle  is  to-morrow,  then,'  I  replied  with  a  smile, 
to  keep  up  the  appearance  of  indifference  I  had  given  to  the 
scene.    But  as  I  went  down  the  avenue  I  repeated  the  words : 

"  The  battle  is  to-morrow.' 

"Octave's  anxiety  was  equal  to  Honorine's.  The  Count 
and  I  remained  together  till  two  in  the  morning,  walking  to 
and  fro  by  the  trenches  of  the  Bastille,  like  two  generals  who, 
on  the  eve  of  a  battle,  calculate  all  the  chances,  examine  the 
ground,  and  perceive  that  the  victory  must  depend  on  an  op- 
portunity to  be  seized  half-way  through  the  fight.  These 
two  divided  beings  would  each  lie  awake,  one  in  the  hope,  the 
other  in  agonizing  dread  of  reunion.  The  real  dramas  of  life 
are  not  in  circumstances,  but  in  feelings;  they  are  played  in 
the  heart,  or,  if  you  please,  in  that  vast  realm  which  we  ought 
to  call  the  Spiritual  World.  Octave  and  Honorine  moved  and 
lived  altogether  in  the  world  of  lofty  spirits. 

"I  was  punctual.  At  ten  next  evening  I  was,  for  the 
first  time,  shown  into  a  charming  bedroom  furnished  with 
white  and  blue — the  nest  of  this  wounded  dove.  The 
Countess  looked  at  me,  and  was  about  to  speak,  but  was 
stricken  dumb  by  my  respectful  demeanor. 

"  'Madame  la  Comtesse,'  said  I  with  a  grave  smile. 

"The  poor  woman,  who  had  risen,  dropped  back  into  her 
chair  and  remained  there,  sunk  in  an  attitude  of  grief,  which 
I  should  have  liked  to  see  perpetuated  by  a  great  painter. 

"  'You  are,'  I  went  on,  'the  wife  of  the  noblest  and  most 
highly  respected  of  men;  of  a  man  who  is  acknowledged  to 
be  great,  but  who  is  far  greater  in  his  conduct  to  you  than 
he  is  in  the  eyes  of  the  world.  You  and  he  are  two  lofty 
natures. — Where  do  you  suppose  yourself  to  be  living?'  I 
asked  her. 

"  'In  my  own  house,'  she  replied,  opening  her  eyes  with  a 
wide  stare  of  astonishment. 


356 


HONORINE 


"  'In  Count  Octave's/  I  replied.  *You  have  been  tricked. 
M.  Lenormand,  the  usher  of  the  Court,  is  not  the  real  owner ; 
he  is  only  a  screen  for  your  husband.  The  delightful  se- 
clusion you  enjoy  is  the  Count's  work,  the  money  you  earn 
is  paid  by  him,  and  his  protection  extends  to  the  most  trivial 
details  of  your  existence.  Your  husband  has  saved  you  in 
the  eyes  of  the  world;  he  has  assigned  plausible  reasons  for 
your  disappearance;  he  professes  to  hope  that  you  were  not 
lost  in  the  wreck  of  the  Cecil e,  the  ship  in  which  you  sailed 
for  Havana  to  secure  the  fortune  to  be  left  to  you  by  an 
old  aunt,  who  might  have  forgotten  you;  you  embarked, 
escorted  by  two  ladies  of  her  family  and  an  old  man-servant. 
The  Count  says  that  he  has  sent  agents  to  various  spots, 
and  received  letters  which  give  him  great  hopes.  He  takes 
as  many  precautions  to  hide  you  from  all  eyes  as  you  take 
yourself.    In  short,  he  obeys  you    .  . 

"  '^That  is  enough,'  she  said.  'I  want  to  know  but  one  thing 
more.    From  whom  have  you  obtained  all  these  details?' 

"  ^Well,  madame,  my  uncle  got  a  place  for  a  penniless 
youth  as  secretary  to  the  Commissary  of  police  in  this  part 
of  Paris.  That  young  man  told  me .  every  thing.  If  you 
leave  this  house  this  evening,  however  stealthily,  your  hus- 
band will  know  where  you  are  gone,  and  his  care  will 
follow  you  everywhere. — How  could  a  woman  so  clever  as 
you  are  believe  that  shopkeepers  buy  flowers  and  caps  as  dear 
as  they  sell  them?  Ask  a  thousand  crowns  for  a  bouquet, 
and  you  will  get  it.  No  mother's  tenderness  was  ever  more 
ingenious  than  your  husband's !  I  have  learned  from  the 
porter  of  this  house  that  the  Count  often  comes  behind  the 
fence  when  all  are  asleep,  to  see  the  glimmer  of  your  night- 
light  !  Your  large  cashmere  shawl  cost  six  thousand  francs — 
your  old-clothes-seller  brings  you,  as  second  hand,  things  fresh 
from  the  best  makers.  In  short,  you  are  living  here  like  Venue 
in  the  toils  of  Vulcan ;  but  you  are  alone  in  your  prison  by  the 
devices  of  a  sublime  magnanimity,  sublime  for  seven  years 
past,  and  at  every  hour.' 

"The  Countess  was  trembling  as  a  trapped  swallow  trembles 


HONORINE 


351 


while,  as  you  hold  it  in  your  hand,  it  strains  its  neck  to  look- 
about  it  with  wild  eyes.  She  shook  with  a  nervous  spasm, 
studying  me  with  a  defiant  look.  Her  dry  eyes  glittered  with 
a  light  that  was  almost  hot:  still,  she  was  a  woman!  The 
moment  came  when  her  tears  forced  their  way,  and  she  wept — 
not  because  she  was  touched,  but  because  she  was  helpless; 
they  were  tears  of  desperation.  She  had  believed  herself  in- 
dependent and  free;  marriage  weighed  on  her  as  the  prison 
cell  does  on  the  captive. 

"  will  go  V  she  cried  through  her  tears.  *He  forces  me 
to  it ;  I  will  go  where  no  one  certainly  will  come  after  me.' 

"  'What/  I  said,  ^you  would  kill  yourself  ? — Madame,  you 
must  have  some  very  powerful  reasons  for  not  wishing  to 
return  to  Comte  Octave.' 

"  'Certainly  I  have !' 

"  'Well,  then,  tell  them  to  me ;  tell  them  to  my  uncle.  Ii< 
us  you  will  find  two  devoted  advisers.  Though  in  the  con- 
fessional my  uncle  is  a  priest,  he  never  is  one  in  a  drawing- 
room.  We  will  hear  you ;  we  will  try  to  find  a  solution  of  the 
problems  you  may  lay  before  us ;  and  if  you  are  the  dupe  or 
the  victim  of  some  misapprehension,  perhaps  we  can  clear  the 
matter  up.  Your  soul,  I  believe,  is  pure;  but  if  you  hav(^ 
done  wrong,  your  fault  is  fully  expiated.  ...  At  an}' 
rate,  remember  that  in  me  you  have  a  most  sincere  friend. 
If  you  should  wish  to  evade  the  Count's  tyranny,  I  will  find 
you  the  means ;  he  shall  never  find  you.' 

"  'Oh !  there  is  always  a  convent !'  said  she. 

"  'Yes.  But  the  Count,  as  Minister  of  State,  can  procure 
your  rejection  by  every  convent  in  the  world.  Even  though 
he  is  powerful,  I  will  save  you  from  him — ;  but — only  when 
you  have  demonstrated  to  me  that  you  cannot  and  ought  not 
to  return  to  him.  Oh!  do  not  fear  that  you  would  escape 
his  power  only  to  fall  into  mine,'  I  added,  noticing  a  glance 
of  horrible  suspicion,  full  of  exaggerated  dignity.  'You  shall 
have  peace,  solitude,  and  independence;  in  short,  you  shall 
be  as  free  and  as  little  annoyed  as  if  you  were  an  ugly,  cros^ 
old  maid.  I  myself  would  never  be  able  to  see  you  without 
your  consent.' 


358 


HONORtNB 


"  'And  how?    By  what  incans  ?' 

"  'That  is  my  secret.  1  am  not  deceiving  you,  of  that  you 
may  be  sure.  Prove  to  me  that  this  is  the  only  life  you  can 
lead,  that  it  is  preferable  to  that  of  the  Comtesse  Octave,  richc 
admired,  in  one  of  the  finest  houses  in  Paris,  beloved  by  hei 
husband,  a  happy  mother  .  .  .  and  I  will  decide  in  your 
favor.' 

''  'But,'  said  she,  'will  there  never  be  a  man  who  under- 
stands me  T 

"  'No.  And  that  is  why  I  appeal  to  religion  to  decide  be- 
tween us.  The  Cure  of  the  White  Friars  is  a  saint,  seventy- 
five  years  of  age.  My  uncle  is  not  a  Grand  Inquisitor,  he  is 
Saint  J ohn ;  but  for  you  he  will  be  Fenelon — the  Fenelon  who 
said  to  the  Due  de  Bourgogne :  'Eat  a  calf  on  a  Friday  by  all 
means,  monseigneur.    But  be  a  Christian.' 

"  'Nay,  nay,  monsieur,  the  convent  is  my  last  hope  and  my 
only  refuge.  There  is  none  but  God  who  can  understand  me. 
No  man,  not  Saint  Augustine  himself,  the  tenderest  of  the 
Fathers  of  the  Church,  could  enter  into  the  scruples  of  my 
conscience,  which  are  to  me  as  the  circles  of  Dante's  hell, 
whence  there  is  no  escape.  Another  than  my  husband,  a 
different  man,  however  unworthy  of  the  offering,  has  had  all 
my  love.  No,  he  has  not  had  it,  for  he  did  not  take  it ;  I  gave 
it  him  as  a  mother  gives  her  child  a  wonderful  toy,  which 
it  breaks.  For  me  there  never  could  be  two  loves.  In  some 
natures  love  can  never  be  on  trial;  it  is,  or  it  is  not.  When 
it  comes,  when  it  rises  up,  it  is  complete. — Well,  that  life  of 
eighteen  months  was  to  me  a  life  of  eighteen  years;  I  threw 
into  it  all  the  faculties  of  my  being,  which  were  not  im- 
poverished by  their  effusiveness ;  they  were  exhausted  by  that 
delusive  intimacy  in  which  I  alone  was  genuine.  For  me 
the  cup  of  happiness  is  not  drained,  nor  empty ;  and  nothing 
can  refill  it,  for  it  is  broken.  I  am  out  of  the  fray ;  I  have  no 
weapons  left.  Having  thus  utterly  abandoned  myself,  what 
am  I  ? — the  leavings  of  a  feast,  I  had  but  one  name  bestowed 
on  me,  Honorine,  as  I  had  but  one  heart.  My  husband  had 
the  young  girl,  a  worthless  lover  had  the  woman — there  is 


IIONOIIINE 


859 


nothing  left ! — Then  let  myself  be  loved !  that  is  the  great 
idea  you  mean  to  utter  to  me.  Oh !  but  I  still  am  something, 
and  I  rebel  at  the  idea  of  being  a  prostitute!  Yes,  by  the 
light  of  the  conflagration  I  saw  clearly;  and  I  tell  you — well, 
I  could  imagine  surrendering  to  another  man's  love,  but  to 
Octave's? — No,  never.' 

*^  'Ah !  you  love  him,'  I  said. 

"  'I  esteem  him,  respect  him,  venerate  him ;  he  never  has 
done  me  the  smallest  hurt ;  he  is  kind,  he  is  tender ;  but  I  can 
never  more  love  him.  However,'  she  went  on,  'let  us  talk 
no  more  of  this.  Discussion  makes  everything  small.  I 
will  express  my  notions  on  this  subject  in  writing  to  you,  for 
at  this  moment  they  are  suffocating  me;  I  am  feverish,  my 
feet  are  standing  in  the  ashes  of  my  Paraclete.  All  that  I 
see,  these  things  which  I  believed  I  had  earned  by  my  labor, 
now  remind  me  of  everything  I  wish  to  forget.  Ah !  I  must 
fly  from  hence  as  I  fled  from  my  home.' 

"  'Where  will  you  go  ?'  I  asked.  'Can  a  woman  exist  un- 
protected ?  At  thirty,  in  all  the  glory  of  your  beauty,  rich  in 
powers  of  which  you  have  no  suspicion,  full  of  tenderness  to 
be  bestowed,  are  you  prepared  to  live  in  the  wilderness  where 
I  could  hide  you  ? — Be  quite  easy.  The  Count,  who  for  nine 
years  has  never  allowed  himself  to  be  seen  here,  will  never  go 
there  without  your  permission.  You  have  his  sublime  de- 
votion of  nine  years  as  a  guarantee  for  your  tranquillity.  You 
may  therefore  discuss  the  future  in  perfect  confidence  with 
my  uncle  and  me.  My  uncle  has  as  much  influence  as  a 
Minister  of  State.  So  compose  yourself;  do  not  exaggerate 
your  misfortune.  A  priest  whose  hair  has  grown  white  in  the 
exercise  of  his  functions  is  not  a  boy ;  you  will  be  understood 
by  him  to  whom  every  passion  has  been  confided  for  nearly 
fifty  years  now,  and  who  weighs  in  his  hands  the  ponderous 
Jieart  of  kings  and  princes.  If  he  is  stern  under  his  stole,  in 
the  presence  of  your  flowers  he  will  be  as  tender  as  they  are, 
and  as  indulgent  as  his  Divine  Master.' 

"I  left  the  Countess  at  midnight ;  she  was  apparently  calm, 
but  depressed,  and  had  some  secret  purpose  which  no  per- 


860  HONORINE 

spicacity  could  guess.  I  found  the  Count  a  few  paces  off,  in 
the  Kue  Saint-Maur.  Drawn  by  an  irresistible  attraction, 
he  had  quitted  the  spot  on  the  Boulevards  where  we  had  agreed 
to  meet. 

^What  a  night  my  poor  child  will  go  through !'  he  ex- 
claimed, when  I  had  finished  my  account  of  the  scene  that  had 
just  taken  place.  ^Supposing  I  were  to  go  to  her !'  he  added ; 
supposing  she  were  to  see  me  suddenly  V 

"  '^At  this  moment  she  is  capable  of  throwing  herself  out  of 
the  window,^  I  replied.  ^The  Countess  is  one  of  those  Lu- 
cretias  who  could  not  survive  any  violence,  even  if  it  were  done 
by  a  man  into  whose  arms  she  could  throw  herself.' 

"  ^You  are  young,'  he  answered ;  *you  do  not  know  that  in  a 
soul  tossed  by  such  dreadful  alternatives  the  will  is  like 
waters  of  a  lake  lashed  by  a  tempest;  the  wind  changes  every 
instant,  and  the  waves  are  driven  now  to  one  shore,  now  to  the 
other.  During  this  night  the  chances  are  quite  as  great  that 
on  seeing  me  Honorine  might  rush  into  my  arms  as  that  she 
would  throw  herself  out  of  the  window.' 

"  *And  you  would  accept  the  equal  chances,'  said  I. 

"  ^Well,  come,'  said  he,  have  at  home,  to  enable  me  to 
wait  till  to-morrow,  a  dose  of  opium  which  Desplein  prepared 
for  me  to  send  me  to  sleep  without  any  risk !' 

"Next  day  at  noon  Gobain  brought  me  a  letter,  telling  me 
that  the  Countess  had  gone  to  bed  at  six,  worn  out  with 
fatigue,  and  that,  having  taken  a  soothing  draught  prepared 
by  the  chemist,  she  had  now  fallen  asleep. 

"This  is  her  letter,  of  which  I  kept  a  copy — for  you,  made- 
moiselle," said  the  Consul,  addressing  Camille,  "know  all  the 
resources  of  art,  the  tricks  of  style,  and  the  efforts  made  in 
their  compositions  by  writers  who  do  not  lack  skill;  but  you 
will  acknowledge  that  literature  could  never  find  such  lan- 
guage in  its  assumed  pathos;  there  is  nothing  so  terrible  as 
truth.  Here  is  the  letter  written  by  this  woman,  or  rather 
by  this  anguish 


HONOKINB 


861 


"  'Monsieur  Maurice, — 

"  *I  know  all  your  uncle  could  say  to  me ;  he  is  not  better 
informed  than  my  own  conscience.  Conscience  is  the  in- 
terpreter of  God  to  man.  I  know  that  if  I  am  not  reconciled 
to  Octave,  I  shall  be  damned ;  that  is  the  sentence  of  religious 
law.  Civil  law  condemns  me  to  obey,  cost  what  it  may.  If 
my  husband  does  not  reject  me,  the  world  will  regard  me  as 
pure,  as  virtuous,  whatever  I  may  have  done.  Yes,  that  much 
is  sublime  in  marriage ;  society  ratifies  the  husband's  forgive- 
ness; but  it  forgets  that  the  forgiveness  must  be  accepted. 
Legally,  religiously,  and  from  the  world's  point  of  view  I 
ought  to  go  back  to  Octave.  Keeping  only  to  the  human 
aspect  of  the  question,  is  it  not  cruel  to  refuse  him  happiness, 
to  deprive  him  of  cliildren,  to  wipe  his  name  out  of  the 
Golden  Book  and  the  list  of  peers?  My  sufferings,  my  re- 
pugnance, my  feelings,  all  my  egoism — for  I  know  that  I  am 
an  egoist — ought  to  be  sacrificed  to  the  family.  I  shall  be  a 
mother ;  the  caresses  of  my  child  will  wipe  away  many  tears ! 
I  shall  be  very  happy ;  I  certainly  shall  be  much  looked  up  to. 
I  shall  ride,  haughty  and  wealthy,  in  a  handsome  carriage! 
I  shall  have  servants  and  a  fine  house,  and  be  the  queen  of 
as  many  parties  as  there  are  weeks  in  the  year.  The  world 
will  receive  me  handsomely.  I  shall  not  have  to  climb  up 
again  to  the  heaven  of  aristocracy,  I  shall  never  have  come 
down  from  it.    So  God,  the  law,  society  are  all  in  accord. 

"  ^  ''What  are  you  rebelling  against  I  am  asked  from 
the  height  of  heaven,  from  the  pulpit,  from  the  judge's  bench, 
and  from  the  throne,  whose  august  intervention  may  at  need 
be  invoked  by  the  Count.  Your  uncle,  indeed,  at  need,  would 
speak  to  me  of  a  certain  celestial  grace  which  will  flood  my 
heart  when  I  know  the  pleasure  of  doing  my  duty. 

"  'God,  the  law,  the  world,  and  Octave  all  wish  me  to  live, 
no  doubt.  Well,  if  there,  is  no  other  difficulty,  my  reply  cuts 
the  knot:  I  will  not  live.  I  will  become  quite  white  and  in- 
nocent again ;  for  I  will  lie  in  my  shroud,  white  with  the 
blameless  pallor  of  death.  This  is  not  in  the  least  "mulish 
obstinacy."    That  mulish  obstinacy  of  which  you  jestingly 


HONORINB 


accused  me  is  in  a  woman  the  result  of  confidence,  of  a  visioi 
of  the  future.  Though  my  husband,  sublimely  generous,  may 
forget  all,  I  shall  not  forget.  Does  forgetfulness  depend  on 
our  will  ?  When  a  widow  re-marries,  love  makes  a  girl  of  her ; 
she  marries  a  man  she  loves.  But  I  cannot  love  the  Count. 
It  all  lies  in  that,  do  not  you  see  ? 

"  *Every  time  my  eyes  met  his  I  should  see  my  sin  in  them, 
even  when  his  were  full  of  love.  The  greatness  of  his  gen- 
erosity would  be  the  measure  of  the  greatness  of  my  crime. 
My  eyes,  always  uneasy,  would  be  for  ever  reading  an  in- 
visible condemnation.  My  heart  would  be  full  of  confused 
and  struggling  memories ;  marriage  can  never  move  me  to  the 
cruel  rapture,  the  mortal  delirium  of  passion.  I  should  kill 
my  husband  by  my  coldness,  by  comparisons  which  he  would 
guess,  though  hidden  in  the  depths  of  my  conscience.  Oh! 
on  the  day  when  I  should  read  a  trace  of  involuntary,  even  of 
suppressed  reproach  in  a  furrow  on  his  brow,  in  a  saddened 
look,  in  some  imperceptible  gesture,  nothing  could  hold  me :  I 
should  be  lying  with  a  fractured  skull  on  the  pavement,  and 
find  that  less  hard  than  my  husband.  It  might  be  my  own 
over-susceptibility  that  would  lead  me  to  this  horrible  but 
welcome  death;  I  might  die  the  victim  of  an  impatient  mood 
in  Octave  caused  by  some  matter  of  business,  or  be  deceived 
by  some  unjust  suspicion.  Alas !  I  might  even  mistake  some 
proof  of  love  for  a  sign  of  contempt ! 

*^  ^What  torture  on  both  sides !  Octave  would  be  always 
doubting  me,  I  doubting  him.  I,  quite  involuntarily,  should 
give  him  a  rival  wholly  unworthy  of  him,  a  man  whom  I 
despise,  but  with  whom  I  have  known  raptures  branded  on 
me  with  fire,  which  are  my  shame,  but  which  I  cannot  forget, 

"  ^Have  I  shown  you  enough  of  my  heart  ?  No  one,  mon- 
sieur, can  convince  me  that  love  may  be  renewed,  for  I  neither 
can  nor  will  accept  love  from  any  one.  A  young  bride  is  like 
a  plucked  flower;  but  a  guilty  v/ife  is  like  a  flower  that  had 
been  walked  over.  You,  who  are  a  florist,  you  know  whether 
it  is  ever  possible  to  restore  the  broken  stem,  to  revive  the 
faded  colors,  to  make  the  sap  flow  again  in  the  tender  vessels 


HONORINB 


883 


of  which  the  whole  vegetative  function  lies  in  their  perfect 
rigidity.  If  some  botanist  should  attempt  the  operation,  could 
his  genius  smooth  out  the  folds  of  the  bruised  corolla?  If 
he  could  remake  a  flower,  he  would  be  God !  God  alone  can 
remake  me !  I  am  drinking  the  bitter  cup  of  expiation ;  but 
as  I  drink  it  I  painfully  spell  out  this  sentence :  Expiation  is 
not  annihilation. 

"  *In  my  little  house,  alone,  I  eat  my  bread  soaked  in  tears ; 
but  no  one  sees  me  eat  nor  sees  me  weep.  If  I  go  back  to 
Octave,  I  must  give  up  my  tears — they  would  offend  him.  Oh ! 
monsieur,  how  many  virtues  must  a  woman  tread  under  foot, 
not  to  give  herself,  but  to  restore  herself  to  a  betrayed  hus- 
band? Who  could  count  them?  God  alone;  for  He  alone 
can  know  and  encourage  the  horrible  refinements  at  which  the 
angels  must  turn  pale.  Nay,  I  will  go  further.  A  woman 
has  courage  in  the  presence  of  her  husband  if  he  knows  noth- 
ing ;  she  shows  a  sort  of  fierce  strength  in  her  hypocrisy ;  she 
deceives  him  to  secure  him  double  happiness.  But  common 
knowledge  is  surely  degrading.  Supposing  I  could  exchange 
humiliation  for  ecstasy  ?  Would  not  Octave  at  last  feel  that 
my  consent  was  sheer  depravity?  Marriage  is  based  on 
esteem,  on  sacrifices  on  both  sides;  but  neither  Octave  nor  I 
could  esteem  each  other  the  day  after  our  reunion.  He  would 
have  disgraced  me  by  a  love  like  that  of  an  old  man  for  a 
courtesan,  and  I  should  for  ever  feel  the  shame  of  being  a 
chattel  instead  of  a  lady.  I  should  represent  pleasure,  and  not 
virtue,  in  his  house.  These  are  the  bitter  fruits  of  such  a  sin. 
I  have  made  myself  a  bed  where  I  can  only  toss  on  burning 
coals,  a  sleepless  pillow. 

"  'Here,  when  I  suffer,  I  bless  my  sufferings ;  I  say  to  God, 
"1  thank  Thee  V'  But  in  my  husband's  house  I  should  be  full 
of  terror,  tasting  joys  to  which  I  have  no  right. 
)  "  'All  this,  monsieur,  is  not  argument ;  it  is  the  feeling  of  a 
soul  made  vast  and  hollow  by  seven  years  of  suffering. 
Finally,  must  I  make  a  horrible  confession?  I  shall  always 
feel  at  my  bosom  the  lips  of  a  child  conceived  in  rapture  and 
joy,  and  in  the  belief  in  happiness,  of  a  child  I  nursed  for 
VOL.  4— 5o 


364 


HONORINE 


seven  months,  that  I  shall  bear  in  my  womb  all  the  days  of 
my  life.  If  other  children  should  draw  their  nourishment 
from  me,  they  would  drink  in  tears  mingling  with  the  milk, 
and  turning  it  sour.  I  seem  a  light  thing,  you  regard  me  as 
a  child — Ah  yes  !  I  have  a  child's  memory,  the  memory  which 
returns  to  us  on  the  verge  of  the  tomb.  So,  you  see,  there 
is  not  a  situation  in  that  beautiful  life  to  which  the  world 
and  my  husband's  love  want  to  recall  me,  which  is  not  a  false 
position,  which  does  not  cover  a  snare  or  reveal  a  precipice 
down  which  I  must  fall,  torn  by  pitiless  rocks.  For  five  years 
now  I  have  been  wandering  in  the  sandy  desert  of  the  future 
without  finding  a  place  convenient  to  repent  in,  because  my 
soul  is  possessed  by  true  repentance. 

"  ^Keligion  has  its  answers  ready  to  all  this,  and  I  know  them 
by  heart.  This  suffering,  these  difficulties,  are  my  punishment, 
she  says,  and  God  will  give  me  strength  to  endure  them. 
This,  monsieur,  is  an  argument  to  certain  pious  souls  gifted 
with  an  energy  which  I  have  not.  I  have  made  my  choice 
between  this  hell,  where  God  does  not  forbid  my  blessing 
Him,  and  the  hell  that  awaits  me  under  Count  Octave's 
roof. 

^One  word  more.  If  I  were  still  a  girl,  with  the  expe- 
rience I  now  have,  my  husband  is  the  man  I  should  choose ;  but 
that  is  the  very  reason  of  my  refusal.  I  could  not  bear  to  blush 
before  that  man.  What !  1  should  be  always  on  my  knees,  he 
always  standing  upright ;  and  if  we  were  to  exchange  positions, 
I  should  scorn  him !  I  will  not  be  better  treated  by  him  in 
consequence  of  my  sin.  The  angel  who  might  venture  under 
such  circumstances  on  certain  liberties  which  are  permissible 
when  both  are  equally  blameless,  is  not  on  earth;  he  dwells 
in  heaven!  Octave  is  full  of  delicate  feeling,  I  know;  but 
even  in  his  soul  (which,  however  generous,  is  a  man's  soul 
after  all)  there  is  no  guarantee  for  the  new  life  I  should  lead 
with  him. 

"  Tome,  then,  and  tell  me  where  I  may  find  the  solitude, 
the  peace,  the  silence,  so  kindly  to  irreparable  woe?,  which  you 
promised  me.' 


HONOKINE 


865 


"After  making  this  copy  of  the  letter  to  preserve  it  com- 
plete, I  went  to  the  Kue  Payenne.  Anxiety  had  conquered 
the  power  of  opium.  Octave  was  walking  up  and  down  his 
garden  like  a  madman. 

"  'Answer  that  V  said  I,  giving  him  his  wife's  letter.  'Try 
to  reassure  the  modesty  of  experience.  It  is  rather  more 
difficult  than  conquering  the  modesty  of  ignorance,  which 
curiosity  helps  to  betray.' 

"  'She  is  mine  V  cried  the  Count,  whose  face  expressed 
joy  as  he  went  on  reading  the  letter. 

"He  signed  to  me  with  his  hand  to  leave  him  to  himself. 
I  understood  that  extreme  happiness  and  extreme  pain  obey 
the  same  laws;  I  went  in  to  receive  Madame  de  Courteville 
and  Amelie,  who  were  to  dine  with  the  Count  that  day.  How- 
ever handsome  Mademoiselle  de  Courteville  might  be,  I  felt, 
on  seeing  her  once  more,  that  love  has  three  aspects,  and  that 
the  women  who  can  inspire  us  with  perfect  love  are  very  rare. 
As  I  involuntarily  compared  Amelie  with  Honorine,  I  found 
the  erring  wife  more  attractive  than  the  pure  girl.  To  Ho- 
norine's  heart  fidelity  had  not  been  a  duty,  but  the  inevitable ; 
while  Amelie  would  serenely  pronounce  the  most  solemn 
promises  without  knowing  their  purport  or  to  what  they  bound 
her.  The  crushed,  the  dead  woman,  so  to  speak,  the  sinner 
to  be  reinstated,  seemed  to  me  sublime ;  she  incited  the  special 
generosities  of  a  man's  nature ;  she  demanded  all  the  treasures 
of  the  heart,  all  the  resources  of  strength;  she  filled  his  life 
and  gave  the  zest  of  a  conflict  to  happiness ;  whereas  Amelie, 
chaste  and  confiding,  would  settle  down  into  the  sphere  of 
peaceful  motherhood,  where  the  commonplace  must  be  its 
poetry,  and  where  my  mind  would  find  no  struggle  and  no 
victory. 

"Of  the  plains  of  Champagne  and  the  snowy,  storm-beaten 
but  sublime  Alps,  what  young  man  would  choose  the  chalky, 
monotonous  level?  No;  such  comparisons  are  fatal  and 
wrong  on  the  threshold  of  the  Mairie.  Alas !  only  the  ex- 
perience of  life  can  teach  us  that  marriage  excludes  passion, 
that  a  f?^.mily  cannot  have  its  foundation  on  the  tempests  of 


366 


HONORINE 


love.  After  having  dreamed  of  impossible  love,  with  its  in- 
finite caprices,  after  having  tasted  the  tormenting  delights  of 
the  ideal,  I  saw  before  me  modest  reality.  Pity  me,  for  what 
could  be  expected !  At  five-and- twenty  I  did  not  trust  myself ; 
but  I  took  a  manful  resolution. 

"I  went  back  to  the  Count  to  announce  the  arrival  of  his 
relations,  and  I  saw  him  grown  young  again  in  the  reflected 
light  of  hope. 

"  ^What  ails  you,  Maurice  T  said  he,  struck  by  my  changed 
expression. 

"  ^Monsieur  le  Comte  ' 

"  'No  longer  Octave  ?  You,  to  whom  I  shall  owe  my  life, 
my  happiness  

"  '^My  dear  Octave,  if  you  should  succeed  in  bringing  the 
Countess  back  to  her  duty,  I  have  studied  her  welF — (he 
looked  at  me  as  Othello  must  have  looked  at  lago  when  lago 
first  contrived  to  insinuate  a  suspicion  into  the  Moor's  mind) 
— 'she  must  never  see  me  again;  she  must  never  know  that 
Maurice  was  your  secretary.  Never  mention  my  name  to  her, 
or  all  will  be  undone.  .  .  .  You  have  got  me  an  appoint- 
ment as  Maitre  des  Eequetes — well,  get  me  instead  some 
diplomatic  post  abroad,  a  consulship,  and  do  not  think  of  my 
marrying  Amelie. — Oh  !  do  not  be  uneasy,'  I  added,  seeing  him 
draw  himself  up,  'I  will  play  my  part  to  the  end.' 

''  'Poor  boy !'  said  he,  taking  my  hand,  which  he  pressed, 
while  he  kept  back  the  tears  that  were  starting  to  his  eyes. 

"  'You  gave  me  gloves,'  I  said,  laughing,  'but  I  have  not 
put  them  on;  that  is  all.' 

"We  then  agreed  as  to  what  I  was  to  do  that  evening  at 
Honorine's  house,  whither  I  presently  returned.  It  was  now 
August ;  the  day  had  been  hot  and  stormy,  but  the  storm  hung 
overhead,  the  sky  was  like  copper;  the  scent  of  the  flowers 
was  heavy,  I  felt  as  if  I  were  in  an  oven,  and  caught  my- 
self wishing  that  the  Countess  might  have  set  out  for  the 
Indies;  but  she  was  sitting  on  a  wooden  bench  shaped  like  a 
sofa,  under  an  arbor,  in  a  loose  dress  of  white  muslin  fastened 
with  blue  bows,  her  hair  unadorned  in  waving  bands  over  her 


HONOKINE 


367 


cheeks,  her  feet  on  a  small  wooden  stool,  and  showing  a  little 
way  beyond  her  skirt.  She  did  not  rise ;  she  showed  me  with 
her  hand  to  the  seat  by  her  side,  saying : 

"  'Now,  is  not  life  at  a  deadlock  for  me  T 

"  'Life  as  yon  have  made  it,^  I  replied.  'But  not  the  life 
I  propose  to  make  for  you ;  for,  if  you  choose,  you  may  be  very- 
happy.    .    .  / 

"  'How  T  said  she ;  her  whole  person  was  a  question. 

"  'Your  letter  is  in  the  Count^s  hands.' 

"Honorine  started  like  a  frightened  doe,  sprang  to  a  few  paces 
off,  walked  down  the  garden,  turned  about,  remained  standing 
for  -some  minutes,  and  finally  went  in  to  sit  alone  in  the  draw- 
ing-room, where  I  joined  her,  after  giving  her  time  to  get  ac- 
customed to  the  pain  of  this  poniard  thrust. 

"  'You — a  friend  ?  Say  rather  a  traitor !  A  spy,  perhaps, 
sent  by  my  husband.' 

"Instinct  in  women  is  as  strong  as  the  perspicacity  of  great 
men. 

"  'You  wanted  an  answer  to  your  letter,  did  not  you  ?  And 
there  was  but  one  man  in  the  world  who  could  write  it.  You 
must  read  the  reply,  my  dear  Countess;  and  if  after  reading 
it  you  still  find  that  your  life  is  a  deadlock,  the  spy  will  prove 
himself  a  friend;  I. will  place  you  in  a  convent  whence  the 
Count's  power  cannot  drag  you.  But,  before  going  there,  let 
us  consider  the  other  side  of  the  question.  There  is  a  law, 
alike  divine  and  human,  which  even  hatred  affects  to  obey, 
and  which  commands  us  not  to  condemn  the  accused  v/ithout 
hearing  his  defence.  Till  now  you  have  passed  condemnation, 
as  children  do,  with  your  ears  stopped.  The  devotion  of  seven 
years  has  its  claims.  So  you  must  read  the  answer  your  hus- 
band will  send  you.  I  have  forwarded  to  him,  through  my 
uncle,  a  copy  of  your  letter,  and  my  uncle  asked  him  what  his 
reply  would  be  if  his  wife  wrote  him  a  letter  in  such  terms. 
Thus  you  are  not  compromised.  He  will  himself  bring  the 
Count's  answer.  In  the  presence  of  that  saintly  man,  and  in 
mine,  out  of  respect  for  your  own  dignity,  you  must  read  it, 
or  you  will  be  no  better  than  a  wilful,  passionate  child.  You 


368 


HONORINE 


must  make  this  sacrifice  to  the  world,  to  the  law,  and  to 
God/ 

'^As  she  saw  in  this  concession  no  attack  on  her  womanly 
resolve,  she  consented.  All  the  labor  of  four  or  five  months 
had  been  building  up  to  this  moment.  But  do  not  the  Pyra- 
mids end  in  a  point  on  which  a  bird  may  perch  ?  The  Count 
had  set  all  his  hopes  on  this  supreme  instant,  and  he  had 
reached  it. 

"In  all  my  life  I  remember  nothing  more  formidable  than 
my  uncle's  entrance  into  that  little  Pompadour  drawing- 
room,  at  ten  that  evening.  The  fine  head,  with  its  silver  hair 
thrown  into  relief  by  the  entirely  black  dress,  and  the  divinely 
calm  face,  had  a  magical  effect  on  the  Comtesse  Honorine; 
she  had  the  feeling  of  cool  balm  on  her  wounds,  and  beamed 
in  the  reflection  of  that  virtue  which  gave  light  without  know- 
ing it. 

"  '^Monsieur  the  Cure  of  the  White  Friars,^  said  old  Gobain. 
"  'Are  you  come,  uncle,  with  a  message  of  happiness  and 
peace  ?'  said  I. 

"  'Happiness  and  peace  are  always  to  be  found  in  obedience 
to  the  precepts  of  the  Church,'  replied  my  uncle,  and  h*i 
handed  the  Countess  the  following  letter: — 

*'  'My  dear  Honorine, — 

"  'If  you  had  but  done  me  the  favor  of  trusting  me,  if  you 
had  read  the  letter  I  wrote  to  you  five  years  since,  you  would 
have  spared  yourself  five  years  of  useless  labor,  and  of  priva- 
tions which  have  grieved  me  deeply.  In  it  I  proposed  an 
arrangement  of  which  the  stipulations  will  relieve  all  your 
fears,  and  make  our  domestic  life  possible.  I  have  much  to 
reproach  myself  with,  and  in  seven  years  of  sorrow  I  have 
discovered  all  my  errors.  I  misunderstood  marriage.  I 
failed  to  scent  danger  when  it  threatened  you.  An  angel 
was  in  the  house.  The  Lord  bid  me  guard  it  well !  The  Lord 
has  punished  me  for  my  audacious  confidence. 

"  'You  cannot  give  yourself  a  single  lash  without  striking 
me.  Have  mercy  on  me,  my  dear  Honorine.  I  so  fully  appre- 


HONORINE 


369 


ciated  your  susceptibilities  that  I  would  not  bring  you  back 
to  the  old  house  in  the  Rue  Payenne,  where  I  can  live  without 
you,  but  which  I  could  not  bear  to  see  again  with  you.  I  am 
decorating,  with  great  pleasure,  another  house,  in  the  Faubourg 
Saint-Honore,  to  which,  in  hope,  I  conduct  not  a  wife  whom  I 
owe  to  her  ignorance  of  life,  and  secured  to  me  by  law,  but  a 
sister  who  will  allow  me  to  press  on  her  brow  such  a  kiss 
as  a  father  gives  the  daughter  he  blesses  every  day. 

"  ^Will  you  bereave  me  of  the  right  I  have  conquered  from 
your  despair — that  of  watching  more  closely  over  your  needs, 
your  pleasures,  your  life  even  ?  Women  have  one  heart  alwayi? 
on  their  side,  always  abounding  in  excuses — their  mother's ; 
you  never  knew  any  mother  but  my  mother,  who  would  have 
brought  you  back  to  me.  But  how  is  it  that  you  never  guessed 
that  I  had  for  you  the  heart  of  a  mother,  both  of  my  mothe:c 
and  of  your  own?  Yes,  dear,  my  affection  is  neither  mean 
nor  grasping ;  it  is  one  of  those  which  will  never  let  any  annoy- 
ance last  long  enough  to  pucker  the  brow  of  the  child  it  wor- 
ships. What  can  you  think  of  the  companion  of  your  child- 
hood, Honorine,  if  you  believe  him  capable  of  accepting  kisses 
given  in  trembling,  of  living  between  delight  and  anxiety  ?  Do 
not  fear  that  you  will  be  exposed  to  the  laments  of  a  suppliant 
passion ;  I  would  not  want  you  back  until  I  felt  certain  of  my 
own  strength  to  leave  you  in  perfect  freedom. 

"  ^Your  solitary  pride  has  exaggerated  the  difficulties.  You 
may,  if  you  will,  look  on  at  the  life  of  a  brother,  or  of  a  father, 
without  either  suffering  or  joy;  but  you  will  find  neither 
mockery  nor  indifference,  nor  have  any  doubt  as  to  his  inten- 
tions. The  warmth  of  the  atmosphere  in  which  you  live  will 
be  always  equable  and  genial,  without  tempests,  without  a  pos- 
sible squall.  If,  later,  when  3^ou  feel  secure  that  you  are  as 
much  at  home  as  in  your  own  little  house,  you  desire  to  try 
some  other  elements  of  happiness,  pleasures,  or  amusements, 
you  can  expand  their  circle  at  your  will.  The  tenderness  of  a 
mother  knows  neither  contempt  nor  pity.  What  is  it  ?  Love 
without  desire.  Well,  in  me  admiration  shall  hide  every  sen- 
timent in  which  you  might  see  an  offence. 


370 


HONORINE 


"  ^Thus,  living  side  by  side^  we  may  both  be  magnani- 
mous. In  you  the  kindness  of  a  sister,  the  affectionate  thought- 
fulness  of  a  friend,  will  satisfy  the  ambition  of  him  who 
wishes  to  be  your  life's  companion ;  and  you  may  measure  his 
ienderness  by  the  care  he  will  take  to  conceal  it.  Neither  you 
nor  I  will  be  jealous  of  the  past,  for  we  may  each  acknowledge 
that  the  other  has  sense  enough  to  look  only  straight  for- 
ward. 

"  ^Thus  you  will  be  at  home  in  your  new  house  exactly  as 
you  are  in  the  Eue  Saint-Maur;  unapproachable,  alone,  oc- 
cupied as  you  please,  living  by  your  own  law;  but  having  in 
addition  the  legitimate  protection,  of  which  you  are  now 
exacting  the  most  chivalrous  labors  of  love,  with  the  considera- 
tion which  lends  so  much  lustre  to  a  woman,  and  the  fortune 
which  will  allow  of  your  doing  many  good  works.  Honorine, 
when  you  long  for  an  unnecessary  absolution,  you  have  only 
to  ask  for  it ;  it  will  not  be  forced  upon  you  by  the  Church  or 
by  the  Law;  it  will  wait  on  your  pride,  on  your  own  impul- 
sion. My  wife  might  indeed  have  to  fear  all  the  things  you 
dread;  but  not  my  friend  and  sister,  towards  whom  I  am 
bound  to  show  every  form  and  refinement  of  politeness.  To 
see  you  happy  is  enough  happiness  for  me ;  I  have  proved  this 
for  these  seven  years  past.  The  guarantee  for  this,  Honorine, 
is  to  be  seen  in  all  the  flowers  made  by  you,  carefully  pre- 
served, and  watered  by  my  tears.  Like  the  quipos,  the  tally 
cords  of  the  Peruvians,  they  are  the  record  of  our  sorrows. 

"  *If  this  secret  compact  does  not  suit  you,  my  child,  I  have 
begged  the  saintly  man  who  takes  charge  of  this  letter  not 
to  say  a  word  in  my  behalf.  I  will  not  owe  your  return  to 
the  terrors  threatened  by  the  Church,  nor  to  the  bidding  of 
the  Law.  I  will  not  accept  the  simple  and  quiet  happiness 
that  I  ask  from  any  one  but  yourself.  If  you  persist  in  con- 
demning me  to  the  lonely  life,  bereft  even  of  a  fraternal 
smile,  which  I  have  led  for  nine  years,  if  you  remain  in  your 
solitude  and  show  no  sign,  my  will  yields  to  j^ours.  Under- 
stand me  perfectly :  you  shall  be  no  more  troubled  than  you 
have  been  until  this  day.    I  will  get  rid  of  the  crazy  fellow 


HONOKINB 


871 


who  has  meddled  in  your  concerns,  and  has  perhaps  caused 
you  some  annoyance    .  . 

"^Monsieur/  said  Honorine,  folding  up  the  letter,  which 
she  placed  in  her  bosom,  and  looking  at  my  uncle,  ^thank  you 
very  much.  I  will  avail  myself  of  Monsieur  le  Comte^s  per- 
mission to  remain  here  ' 

"  ^Ah  V  I  exclaimed. 

"This  exclamation  made  my  uncle  look  at  me  uneasily,  and 
won  from  the  Countess  a  mischievous  glance,  which  en- 
lightened me  as  to  her  motives. 

"Honorine  had  wanted  to  ascertain  whether  I  were  an  actor, 
a  bird  snarer;  and  I  had  the  melancholy  satisfaction  of  de- 
ceiving her  by  my  exclamation,  which  was  one  of  those  cries 
from  the  heart  which  women  understand  so  well. 

"  *Ah,  Maurice,'  said  she,  'you  know  how  to  love.' 

"The  light  that  flashed  in  my  eyes  was  another  reply  which 
would  have  dissipated  the  Countess'  uneasiness  if  she  still, 
had  any.    Thus  the  Count  found  me  useful  to  the  very  last. 

"Honorine  then  took  out  the  Count's  letter  again  to  finish 
reading  it.    My  uncle  signed  to  me,  and  I  rose. 

"  'Let  us  leave  the  Countess,'  said  he. 

"  'You  are  going  already,  Maurice  ?'  she  said,  without  look- 
ing at  me. 

"She  rose,  and  still  reading,  followed  us  to  the  door.  On 
the  threshold  she  took  my  hand,  pressed  it  very  affectionately, 
and  said,  'We  shall  meet  again    .    .  .' 

"'No,'  I  replied,  wringing  her  hand,  so  that  she  cried 
out.    'You  love  your  husband.    I  leave  to-morrow.' 

"And  I  rushed  away,  leaving  my  uncle,  to  whom  she  said : 

"  'Why,  what  is  the  matter  with  your  nephew  ?' 

"The  good  Abbe  completed  my  work  by  pointing  to  his 
head  and  heart,  as  much  as  to  say,  'He  is  mad,  madame ;  you 
must  forgive  him !'  and  with  all  the  more  truth,  because  he 
really  thought  it. 

"Six  days  after,  I  set  out  with  an  appointment  as  vice-consul 
in  Spain,  in  a  large  commercial  town,  where  I  could  quickly 


372 


HONORINE 


qualify  to  rise  iu  the  career  of  a  consul,  to  which  I  now  re- 
stricted my  ambition.  After  I  had  established  myself  there, 
I  received  this  letter  from  the  Count : — 

"  ^My  dear  Maurice, — 

"  *If  I  were  happy,  I  should  not  write  to  you,  but  I  have 
entered  on  a  new  life  of  suffering.  I  have  grown  young 
again  in  my  desires,  with  all  the  impatience  of  a  man  of  forty, 
and  the  prudence  of  a  diplomatist,  who  has  learned  to  moder- 
ate his  passion.  When  you  left  I  had  not  yet  been  admitted 
to  the  pavilion  in  the  Kue  Saint-Maur,  but  a  letter  had  prom- 
ised me  that  I  should  have  permission — the  mild  and  melan- 
choly letter  of  a  woman  who  dreaded  the  agitations  of  a  meet- 
ing. After  waiting  for  more  than  a  month,  I  made  bold 
to  call,  and  desired  Gobain  to  inquire  whether  I  could  be 
received.  I  sat  down  in  a  chair  in  the  avenue  near  the  lodge, 
}ny  head  buried  in  my  hands,  and  there  I  remained  for  almost 
an  hour. 

"  ^  ^^Madame  had  to  dress,^'  said  Gobain,  to  hide  Honorine's 
Tiesitancy  under  a  pride  of  appearance  which  was  flattering 
1o  me. 

"  ^During  a  long  quarter  of  an  hour  we  both  of  us  were 
possessed  by  an  involuntary  nervous  trembling  as  great  as  that 
\diich  seizes  a  speaker  on  the  platform,  and  we  spoke  to  each 
other  sacred  phrases,  like  those  of  persons  taken  by  surprise 
who  "make  believe^^  a  conversation. 

(£  i  "You  see,  Honorine,'^  said  I,  my  eyes  full  of  tears,  "the 
ice  is  broken,  itnd  I  am  so  tremulous  with  happiness  that  you 
must  forgivd  the  incoherency  of  my  language.  It  will  be 
so  for  a  long  time  yet." 

(( i  "'j'j^gj.g  -g  crime  in  being  in  love  with  your  wife,"  said 
she  with  a  forced  smile. 

" '  "Do  me  the  favor,"  said  I,  "no  longer  to  work  as  you 
do.  I  have  heard  from  Madame  Gobain  that  for  three  weeks 
you  have  been  living  on  your  savings;  you  have  sixty  thou- 
sand francs  a  year  of  your  own,  and  if  you  cannot  give  me 
back  your  heart,  at  least  do  not  abandon  your  fortune  to  me." 

"  ^  "I  have  long  known  your  kindness,"  said  she. 


HONORINE 


373 


« <  "Though  you  should  prefer  to  remain  here/'  said  I,  "and 
to  preserve  your  independence;  though  the  most  ardent  love 
should  find  no  favor  in  your  eyes,  still,  do  not  toil." 

"  'I  gave  her  three  certificates  for  twelve  thousand  francs 
a  year  each ;  she  took  them,  opened  them  languidly,  and  after 
reading  them  through  she  gave  me  only  a  look  as  my  reward. 
She  fully  understood  that  I  was  not  offering  her  money,  but 
freedom. 

"  *  "I  am  conquered,'^  said  she,  holding  out  her  hand,  which 
I  kissed.    "Come  and  see  me  as  often  as  you  like." 

"  *So  she  had  done  herself  a  violence  in  receiving  me.  Next 
day  I  found  her  armed  with  affected  high  spirits,  and  it  took 
two  months  of  habit  before  I  saw  her  in  her  true  character. 
But  then  it  was  like  a  delicious  May,  a  springtime  of  love  that 
gave  me  ineffable  bliss;  she  was  no  longer  afraid;  she  was 
ntudying  me.  Alas !  when  I  proposed  that  she  should  go  to 
England  to  return  ostensibly  to  me,  to  our  home,  that  she 
fahould  resume  her  rank  and  live  in  our  new  residence,  she 
was  seized  with  alarm. 

"  ^  "Why  not  live  always  as  we  are  ?"  she  said. 

"  'I  submitted  without  saying  a  word. 

" '  "Is  she  making  an  experiment  ?"  I  asked  myself  as  I 
left  her.  On  my  way  from  my  own  house  to  the  Eue  Saint- 
Maur  thoughts  of  love  had  swelled  in  my  heart,  and  I  had 
said  to  myself,  like  a  young  man,  "This  evening  she  will 
yield." 

"  'All  my  real  or  affected  force  was  blown  to  the  winds  by 
a  smile,  by  a  command  from  those  proud,  calm  eyes,  un- 
touched by  passion.  I  remembered  the  terrible  words  you  once 
quoted  to  me,  "Lucretia's  dagger  wrote  in  letters  of  blood  the 
watchword  of  woman's  charter — Liberty !"  and  they  froze  me. 
I  felt  imperatively  how  necessary  to  me  was  Honorine's  con- 
sent, and  how  impossible  it  was  to  wring  it  from  her.  Could 
she  guess  the  storms  that  distracted  me  when  I  left  as  when 
I  came  ? 

"  'At  last  I  painted  my  situation  in  a  letter  to  her,  giving 
up  the  attempt  to  speak  of  it.    Honorine  made  no  answer, 


374 


HONORINE 


and  she  was  so  sad  that  I  made  as  though  I  had  not  written. 
I  was  deeply  grieved  by  the  idea  that  I  could  have  distressed 
her :  she  read  my  heart  and  forgave  me.  And  this  was  how. 
Three  days  ago  she  received  me,  for  the  first  time,  in  her  own 
blue-and-white  room.  It  was  bright  with  flowers,  dressed, 
and  lighted  up.  Honorine  was  in  a  dress  that  made  her  be- 
witching. Her  hair  framed  that  face  that  you  know  in  its 
light  curls;  and  in  it  were  some  sprays  of  Cape  heath;  she 
A^ore  a  white  muslin  gown,  a  white  sash  with  long  floating 
ends.  You  know  what  she  is  in  such  simplicity,  but  that  da}'- 
she  was  a  bride,  the  Honorine  of  long  past  days.  My  joy 
was  chilled  at  once,  for  her  face  was  terribly  grave ;  there  were 
fires  beneath  the  ice. 

"  *  "Octave,"  she  said,  "I  will  return  as  your  wife  when 
you  will.  But  understand  clearly  that  this  submission  has  its 
dangers.    I  can  be  resigned  " 

"  '^I  made  a  movement. 

a  i  Yes,"  she  went  on,  "I  understand :  resignation  offends 
you,  and  you  want  what  I  cannot  give — Love.  Religion  and 
pity  led  me  to  renounce  my  vow  of  solitude ;  you  are  here !" 
She  paused. 

"  '  "At  first,"  she  went  on,  "you  asked  no  more.  Now  you 
demand  your  wife.  Well,  here  I  give  you  Honorine,  such  as 
she  is,  without  deceiving  you  as  to  what  she  will  be. — What 
shall  I  be?  A  mother?  I  hope  it.  Believe  me,  I  hope  it 
eagerly.  Try  to  change  me;  you  have  my  consent;  but  if  I 
should  die,  my  dear,  do  not  curse  my  memory,  and  do  not  set 
down  to  obstinacy  what  I  should  call  the  worship  of  the  Ideal, 
if  it  were  not  more  natural  to  call  the  indefinable  feeling  which 
must  kill  me  the  worship  of  the  Divine!  The  future  will 
be  nothing  to  me;  it  will  be  your  concern;  consult  your  own 
,mind." 

^  "  ^And  she  sat  down  in  the  calm  attitude  you  used  to  ad- 
mire, and  watched  me  turning  pale  with  the  pain  she  had 
inflicted.  My  blood  ran  cold.  On  seeing  the  effect  of  hei 
words  she  took  both  my  hands,  and,  holding  them  in  her  own, 
she  said : 


HONORINB 


3Y6 


" '  '^Octave,  I  do  love  you,  but  not  in  the  way  you  wish  to  be 
loved.  I  love  your  soul.  .  .  .  Still,  understand  that  1 
love  you  enough  to  die  in  your  service  like  an  Eastern  slave, 
and  without  a  regret.    It  will  be  my  expiation." 

'She  did  more ;  she  knelt  before  me  on  a  cushion,  and  in 
a  spirit  of  sublime  charity  she  said : 

"  '  "And  perhaps  I  shall  not  die  V 

"  'For  two  months  now  I  have  been  struggling  with  myself. 
What  shall  I  do?  My  heart  is  too  full;  I  therefore  seek  a 
friend,  and  send  out  this  cry,  "What  shall  I  do  ' 

"I  did  not  answer  this  letter.  Two  months  later  the  news- 
papers announced  the  return  on  board  an  English  vessel  of 
the  Comtesse  Octave,  restored  to  her  family  after  adventures 
by  land  and  sea,  invented  with  sufficient  probability  to  arouse 
no  contradictiou. 

"When  I  moved  to  Genoa  I  received  a  formal  announce- 
ment of  the  happy  event  of  the  birth  of  a  son  to  the  Count 
and  Countess.  I  held  that  letter  in  my  hand  for  two  hours, 
sitting  on  this  terrace — on  this  bench.  Two  month  after, 
urged  by  Octave,  by  M.  de  Grandville,  and  Monsieur  de 
Serizy,  my  kind  friends,  and  broken  by  the  death  of  my 
uncle,  I  agreed  to  take  a  wife. 

"Six  months  after  the  revolution  of  July  I  received  this 
letter,  which  concludes  the  story  of  this  couple : — 

"  'Monsieur  Maurice, — I  am  dying  though  I  am  a  mother 
—perhaps  because  I  am  a  mother.  I  have  played  my  part 
as  a  wife  well ;  I  have  deceived  my  husband.  I  have  had  hap- 
piness not  less  genuine  than  the  tears  shed  by  actresses  on  the 
stage.  I  am  dying  for  society,  for  the  family,  for  mar- 
riage, as  the  early  Christians  died  for  God!  I  know  not  of 
what  I  am  dying,  and  I  am  honestly  trying  to  find  out,  foi 
I  am  not  perverse ;  but  I  am  bent  on  explaining  my  malady  to 
you — you  who  brought  that  heavenly  physician  your  uncle, 
at  whose  word  I  surrendered.    He  was  my  director  ;  I  nursed 


KONORINiJ 


him  in  his  last  illness,  and  he  showed  me  the  way  to  heaven, 
bidding  me  persevere  in  my  duty. 

"  'And  I  have  done  my  duty. 

do  not  blame  those  who  forget.  I  admire  them  as 
strong  and  necessary  natures ;  but  I  have  the  malady  of  mem- 
ory !  I  have  not  been  able  twice  to  feel  that  love  of  the  heartj 
which  identifies  a  woman  with  the  man  she  loves.  To  the  last, 
moment,  as  you  know,  I  cried  to  your  heart,  in  the  confes- 
sional, and  to  my  husband,  "Have  mercy  V  But  there  was  no 
mercy.  Well,  and  I  am  dying,  dying  with  stupendous  courage. 
No  courtesan  was  ever  more  gay  than  I.  My  poor  Octave  is 
happy;  I  let  his  love  feed  on  the  illusions  of  my  heart.  I 
throw  all  my  powers  into  this  terrible  masquerade ;  the  actress 
is  applauded,  feasted,  smothered  in  flowers;  but  the  invisible 
rival  comes  every  day  to  seek  its  prey — a  fragment  of  my  life, 
r  am  rent  and  I  smile.  I  smile  on  two  children,  but  it  is  the 
elder,  the  dead  one,  that  will  triumph !  I  told  you  so  before 
The  dead  child  calls  me,  and  I  am  going  to  him. 

"  'The  intimacy  of  marriage  without  love  is  a  position  in 
which  my  soul  feels  degraded  every  hour.  I  can  never  weep 
or  give  myself  up  to  dreams  but  when  I  am  alone.  The 
exigencies  of  society,  the  care  of  my  child,  and  that  of  Octave's 
happiness  never  leave  me  a  moment  to  refresh  myself,  torene-w' 
my  strength,  as  I  could  in  my  solitude.  The  incessant  need! 
for  watchfulness  startles  my  heart  with  constant  alarms.  I 
have  not  succeeded  in  implanting  in  my  soul  the  sharp-eared 
vigilance  that  lies  with  facility,  and  has  the  eyes  of  a  lynx. 
It  is  not  the  lip  of  one  I  love  that  drinks  my  tears  and  kisses 
my  eyelids;  it  is  a  handkerchief  that  dries  them;  my  burn- 
ing eyes  are  cooled  with  water,  and  not  with  tender  lips.  It 
is  my  soul  that  acts  a  part,  and  that  perhaps  is  why  I  am 
dying !  I  lock  up  my  griefs  with  so  much  care  that  nothing 
is  to  be  seen  of  it;  it  must  eat  into  something,  and  it  has 
attacked  my  life. 

"'I  said  to  the  doctors,  who  discovered  my  secret,  'TVfake 
me  die  of  some  plausible  complaint,  or  I  shall  drag  my  hus- 
band with  me." 


HONORINE 


377 


"  'So  it  is  quite  understood  by  M.  Despleiu,  Eianchon,  and 
myself  that  I  am  dying  of  the  softening  of  some  bone  which 
science  has  fully  described.  Octave  believes  that  I  adore  him, 
do  you  understand?  So  I  am  afraid  lest  he  should  follow 
me.  I  now  write  to  beg  you  in  that  case  to  be  the  little 
Count^s  guardian.  You  will  lind  with  this  a  codicil  in  which 
I  have  expressed  my  wish ;  but  do  not  produce  it  excepting  in 
case  of  need,  for  perhaps  I  am  fatuously  vain.  My  devotion 
may  perhaps  leave  Octave  inconsolable  but  willing  to  live. 
— Poor  Octave !  1  wish  him  a  better  wife  than  I  am,  for  he 
deserves  to  be  well  loved. 

"  *Since  my  spiritual  spy  is  married,  I  bid  him  remember 
what  the  liorist  of  the  line  Saint-Maur  hereby  bequeaths  to 
him  as  a  lesson :  May  your  wife  soon  be  a  mother !  Fling  her 
into  the  vulgarest  materialism  of  household  life;  hinder  her 
from  cherishing  in  her  heart  the  mysterious  flower  of  the 
Ideal — of  that  heavenly  perfection  in  which  I  believed,  that 
enchanted  blossom  with  glorious  colors,  and  whose  perfume 
disgusts  us  with  reality.  I  am  a  Saint-Theresa  who  has  not 
been  suffered  to  live  on  ecstasy  in  the  depths  of  a  convent,  with 
the  Holy  Infant,  and  a  spotless  winged  angel  to  come  and  go 
as  she  wished. 

"  'You  saw  me  happy  among  my  beloved  flowers.  I  did 
not  tell  you  all :  I  saw  love  budding  under  your  affected  mad- 
ness, and  I  concealed  from  you  my  thoughts,  my  poetry ;  I  did 
not  admit  you  to  my  kingdom  of  beauty.  Well,  well ;  you  will 
love  my  child  for  love  of  me  if  he  should  one  day  lose  his 
poor  father.  Keep  my  secrets  as  the  grave  will  keep  them. 
Do  not  mourn  for  me;  I  have  been  dead  this  many  a  day,  if 
Saint  Bernard  was  right  in  saying  that  where  there  is  no  more 
love  there  is  no  more  life.^  ^' 

''And  the  Countess  died,^^  said  the  Consul,  putting  away 
the  letters  and  locking  the  pocket-book. 

"Is  the  Count  still  living?"  asked  the  Ambassador,  "for 
since  the  revolution  of  July  he  has  disappeared  from  the 
political  stage/' 


S78 


HOJ^OniNE 


"Do  you  remember,  Monsieur  de  Lora/'  said  the  Consul- 
General,  "having  seen  me  going  to  the  steamboat  with  " 

"A  white-haired  man  !  an  old  man  ?"  said  the  painter. 

"An  old  man  of  forty-five,  going  in  search  of  health  and 
amusement  in  Southern  Italy.  That  old  man  was  my  poor 
friend,  my  patron,  passing  through  Genoa  to  take  leave  of  me 
and  place  his  will  in  my  hands.  He  appoints  me  his  son's 
guardian.  I  had  no  occasion  to  tell  him  of  Honorine's 
wishes." 

"Does  he  suspect  himself  of  murder?"  said  Mademoiselle 
des  Touches  to  the  Baron  de  I'Hostal. 

"He  suspects  the  truth,"  replied  the  Consul,  "and  that  is 
what  is  killing  him.  I  remained  on  board  the  steam  packet 
that  was  to  take  him  to  Naples  till  it  was  out  of  the  roadstead ; 
a  small  boat  brought  me  back.  We  sat  for  some  little  time 
taking  leave  of  each  other — for  ever,  I  fear.  God  only  knows 
how  much  we  love  the  confidant  of  our  love  when  she  who 
inspired  it  is  no  more. 

"  ^That  m^n,^  said  Octave,  ^holds  a  charm  and  wears  an 
aureole.^  The  Count  went  to  the  prow  and  looked  down  on 
the  Mediterranean.  It  happened  to  be  fine,  and,  moved  no 
doubt  by  the  spectacle,  he  spoke  these  last  words:  ^Ought 
we  not,  in  the  interests  of  human  nature,  to  inquire  what  is  the 
irresistible  power  which  leads  us  to  sacrifice  an  exquisite 
creature  to  the  most  fugitive  of  all  pleasures,  and  in  spite  of 
our  reason  ?  In  my  conscience  I  heard  cries.  Honorine  was 
not  alone  in  her  anguish.  And  yet  I  would  have  it !  ...  I 
am  consumed  by  remorse.  In  the  Eue  Payenne  I  was  dying 
of  the  joys  I  had  not ;  now  I  shall  die  in  Italy  of  the  joys  I 
have  had.  .  .  .  Wherein  lay  the  discord  between  two 
natures,  equally  noble,  I  dare  assert  ?' " 

For  some  minutes  profound  silence  reigned  on  the  terrace. 

Then  the  Consul,  turning  to  the  two  women,  asked,  "Was 
she  virtuous  ?" 

Mademoiselle  des  Touches  rose,  took  the  Consul's  arm,  went 
a  few  steps  away,  and  said  to  him : 

"Are  not  men  wrong  too  when  they  come  to  us  and  make 


HONORINB 


379 


a  young  girl  a  wife  while  cherishing  at  the  bottoni  of  their 
heart  some  angelic  image,  and  comj^aring  us  to  those  un- 
known rivals,  to  perfections  often  borrowed  from  a  remem- 
brance, and  always  finding  us  wanting 

"Mademoiselle,  you  would  be  right  if  marriage  were  based 
on  passion;  and  that  was  the  mistake  of  those  two,  who  will 
soon  be  no  more.  Marriage  with  heart-deep  love  on  both 
sides  would  be  Paradise." 

Mademoiselle  des  Touches  turned  from  the  Consul,  and 
was  immediately  joined  by  Claude  Vignon,  who  said  in  her 
ear: 

"A  bit  of  a  coxcomb  is  M.  de  FHostal." 

"N"o,"  replied  she,  whispering  to  Claude  these  words :  "for 
he  has  not  yet  guessed  that  Honorine  would  have  loved  him. 
— Oh  I"  she  exclaimed,  seeing  the  Consul's  wife  approaching, 
"his  wife  was  listening !    Unhappy  man  V 

Eleven  was  striking  by  all  the  clocks,  and  the  guests  went 
home  on  foot  along  the  seashore. 

"Still,  that  is  not  life,"  said  Mademoiselle  des  Touches. 
"That  woman  was  one  of  the  rarest,  and  perhaps  the  most 
extraordinary  exceptions  in  intellect — a  pearl!  Life  is  made 
up  of  various  incidents,  of  pain  and  pleasure  alternately.  The 
Paradise  of  Dante,  that  sublime  expression  of  the  ideal,  that 
perpetual  blue,  is  to  be  found  only  in  the  soul ;  to  ask  it  of  the 
facts  of  life  is  a  luxury  against  which  nature  protests  every 
hour.  To  such  souls  as  those  the  six  feet  of  a  cell,  and  the 
kneeling  chair  are  all  they  need." 

"You  are  right,"  said  Leon  de  Lora ;  "but  good-for-nothing 
as  I  may  be,  I  cannot  help  admiring  a  woman  who  is  capable, 
as  that  one  was,  of  living  by  the  side  of  a  studio, .  under  a 
painter's  roof,  and  never  coming  down,  nor  seeing  the  world, 
nor  dipping  her  feet  in  the  street  mud." 

"Such  a  thing  has  been  known — for  a  few  months,"  said 
Claude  Vignon,  with  deep  irony. 

"Comtesse  Honorine  is  not  unique  of  her  kind,"  replied 
the  Ambassador  to  Mademoiselle  des  Touches.  "A  man,  nay, 
and  a  politician,  a  bitter  writer,  was  the  object  of  such  a 

VOL.  4-51 
/ 


880 


HONORINE 


passion;  and  the  pistol  shot  which  killed  him  hit  not  him 
alone;  the  woman  who  loved  lived  like  a  nun  ever  after." 

"Then  there  are  yet  some  great  souls  in  this  age!"  said 
Camille  Manpin,  and  she  stood  for  some  minutes  pensively 
leaning  on  the  balustrade  of  the  quay. 

Pabis,  January  1843. 


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I 


